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POEMS 



OF 



TWENTY YEARS. 



BY 



LAURA WINTHROP JOHNSON. 




NEW YORK: ,: 
DE WITT C. LENT, PUBLISHER, 

451 BROOME STREET. 
1874. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 

DE WITT C. LENT & COMPANY, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, 



Stereotyped at the 

WOMEN'S PRINTING HOUSE, 

66, 58 and 60 Park Street, 

New York. 



CONTENTS 



DEDICATION. 
SINGING. 

PART I. 

FANCY. 

PAGE 

Second Twilight 9 

Two Flowers — ^ 

I. To the Tuberose lo 

II. To the Periwinkle ^ n 

The Dead Ship I3 

A Legend for Parents I5 

The Pine and the Palm 21 

The Prophet of To-Day 23 

The Four Elements 25 

To F. Mistral 27 

France in 1871 28 

Ireland 3^ 



iv CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Oak and the Vme 33 

Song 34 

The Hour and the Man 34 

Song to the Day 41 

Spain 42 

Inarticulate Sounds 43 

Song to the Pine 45 

Nightfall 46 

Clearing , 47 

Two Dreams 48 

Shipwreck 49 

The Burden of the Sea 50 

The Mother's Vigil 52 

Madre Mia ! y 54 

The Artist's Love — 

I. ToF. E. C... 5=; 

II. The Reply 57 

An Angel 58 

Beware 59 

First Love 60 

The Necken — A Norwegian Legend 61 

On the Shore 65 

Song , (id 

I. Love's Humility 67 

II. Shadow and Sunshine 68 

The Water-Lily 69 

The Public School 73 

The Doves of Venice 75 

The Legend of Mandethat, the Constant. — From the 

Ramayana 76 



CONTENTS. V 

PART II. 

EXPERIENCE. 

PAGE 

The Birth of Thought 83 

The Dawn 84 

Farewell to the Old Year ^.d 

Dreatnland 87 

Prophetic Wishes 89 

" I bless Thee ! and Thou shalt be blest ! " 90 

New Year's Eve, 1S59 92 

Music 94 

A Vision of Grief , 96 

Sonnets — 

I. Love 98 

II. Marriage 99 

Why ? , , 100 

Doubt 100 

Sympathy. , loi 

Out of the Depths 103 

New Lamps for Old Ones , 104 

Morning-glories 106 

To M. P. K 107 

On the Bay 108 

Immortality , . . , I lo 

Too. T. J Ill 

Sacraments 112 

The Dial 113 

At a Concert 114 

The Chickadee ^ n6 

Hitch your Wagon to a Star 117 

Night on the North Shore 118 



vi CONTENTS. 

PART III. 

THE WAR. 

PAGE 

Liberty 123 

Song of Liberty 124 

To G. W. C 126 

Peace Within 127 

National Hymn , . 128 

The Gift of God. . . , , 130 

Rachel 131 

The Coming Gospel 132 

Our Mother's Voice 134 

On Picket Duty 136 

To A. F 140 

The Hero's Mother.— To S. B. S 141 

The Return 143 

Abraham Lincohi 144 

The Others 146 

A Street Funeral 147 

The End 148 



DEDICATION. 



IV. 



Lo ! how the four mysterious blended parts 
Together join in perfect harmony ! 
So all your souls unite and flow with mine, 
In Friendship's strong and mystic Symphony. 

And Faith and Hope and Joy and Grief com- 
bine 
The four deep voices of our life within, 
All harmonized by Love, and Love is mine 
Since ye are mine ; — what further would I win ? 



SINGING. 

I ASK not if the Poet's gift be mine, 
Though in mine ear and heart sweet music ring- 
ing, 
Makes Hfe a thing half sad and half divine ; 
I ever sing but for the love of singing. 

The woodthrush asks not whether his the strain 
Of nightingale, throned minstrel of the moun- 
tain ; 
No ! 'tis ethereal joy, or love-taught pain, 
That bids him warble by the hidden fountain. 

Not his the song that trances, thrills, commands ; 
Not mine the great, glad rapture of the Poet 
Heard like a trumpet over far-off lands ; 
I sang alone, nor cared, though none should 
know it. 

But if the traveller, faltering on his way, 

Sees waters glimmer where the boughs are 

parted, 
And rests, and dreams, scarce listening to my 

lay. 
May he not grow a little lighter-hearted ? 



PART I. 



FANCY. 



SECOND TWILIGHT. 

Upward pulsing, the sunset deepens its glow ; 
The broken light of the lambent evening star, 
Fire upon fire, quivers on ebb and flow. 
And the ripples break in gold and purple, afar. 

Here I stand by thy side, in the silence and 

light : 
Clear is thy strange, sweet face in the solemn 

gleam ; 
Fire upon fire, thine eyes, all searching and 

bright, 
Flood their rays far down in my heart's deep 

stream. 

On shingle and rock the crimson foam wreath 
breaks. 

Glimmers the rock like flame, and the down- 
ward wave 

Fire upon fire, flies off in glittering flakes, 

And the song of the sea to the shore is strong 
and brave. 



lO TWO FLOWERS. 

Words at last in the stillness and splendor come ; 
Fire upon fire, they strike from soul to soul ; 
Few are the words and strong, for passion was 

dumb ; 
Tender and low the replies : we have reached 

our goal ! 

1873. 



TWO FLOWERS. 
I. 

TO THE TUBEROSE. 



Flower, like a pencilled cloud of noonday sky, 

Why art thou tainted ? 
In white robe, gazing evermore on high 

As thou wert sainted. 
Why does thy perfume bring disgust and pain, 
As though some subtle poison of the brain ? 

Nought so impure and hateful springeth rank 

In garden nooks. 
Nothing repels us, growing coarse and dank 

By marshy brooks. 
As thou, so lovely in thy pure repose. 
With thy rich buds, so softly tinged with rose ! 



TWO FLOWERS. II 

Within the bridal chamber dare not breathe ! 

Roses are there ! 
Nor with thy false, polluted whiteness wreathe 

The virgin's hair ! 
Nor on the coffin-hd thy blossoms spread, 
To desecrate the quiet, holy dead ! 

Thus have I seen a white-robed woman stand. 

Blue-eyed and fair, 
Alluring with her graceful arm and hand. 

And golden hair ; 
Yet was there something in her sidelong look, 
The pure in heart to meet could scarcely brook. 

As years roll on, what ruin has she wrought ! 

How crushed the heart 
That nobly loved her, with no doubting thought, 

Nor fear of art ; 
How outraged womanhood, and mother's ties ! 
A seeming saint, clothed in a robe of lies. 

1871. 

n. 

TO THE PERIWINKLE. 

Thou darhng blossom ! telling us of life I 
One of the very first to end the strife 



12 TWO FLOWERS. 

Of light with death, of color with the snow ; 
Thou comest when the crocus flames, 
And the marsh marigold begins to glow ; 
Thou flower with many loving names, 
Thou thoughtful little creature, pensive, sweet, 
Thy guiding star we greet ! 

In France, once deemed the land of the light- 
hearted, 
They call thee *'la pervenche," a gentle sound, 
Yet, for thou lov'st the graves of the departed, 
** The violet of the dead." Each grassy mound 
Is softened by thy dark and fadeless hue. 
And lighted by thine eyes of tender blue ; 
The leaf of faith, the flower of memory, 
Nor death nor winter e'er can conquer thee ! 
Thou coverest our dear ones with thy glory 
As the kind robins of the ancient story. 

The Spaniards tell us that when Jesus wept, 
Where fell His tears of tenderness divine 
Forth sprang thy wreaths, whose purple bloS' 

soms crept, 
As human love round human hearts will twine ; 
And ever when thy lovely bloom appears. 
They cross themselves, and say, lo ! '* Jesus' 

tears ! " 



THE DEAD SHIP. 1 3 

Easter returns ! and winter's gloom is fled ! 
The grave ! the grave will yet give up its dead ! 

And a low burden like a quiet sigh, 

Runs through thy polished and unchanging 

leaves — 
They never can come back, or draw more nigh. 
To bless once more the heart that for them 

grieves ; 
But as they sleep around the sheltering cross, 
We know 'tis dearer far than newer gladness ; 
The dream, the memory that is not loss, 
The long regret, that is far more than sadness. 
The hope, the fear, that words can never tell, — 
All is not ended with that word, Farewell ! 

1871. 



THE DEAD SHIP. 



SUNBLEACHED and weird and lonely she lies, 

On the windy beach where the wild bird cries, 

Half buried in weed, and drift, and sand. 

Torn and seamed, and hke ashen brand, 

In slow decay for many a day, 

The proud, fair ship lies wasting away. 



14 THE DEAD SHIP. 

Would you dream how lovely she appeared, 
When with white sails set, she proudly steered, 
Away, away, far over the bay. 
Through the starlit night and the sunlit day, 
Till the white fog came 'mid the breakers' roar, 
And lured her on to the angry shore. 

Straight, and white, and wasted she lies ; 

Gone is the light of those wondrous eyes ; 

Shrouded, and covered with pallid flowers, 

Lying alone through the midnight hours, 

Blown out like a torch, extinct, forgot, 

All of the past as if it were not ; 

Would you deem that this had been beauty and 

fame. 
And love and hope, till the shipwreck came ? 
Had you seen her dance and speak and smile, 
(Alas ! it is but a little while !) 
No deeper tragedy could be told, 
Than by those pale lips, might they yet unfold. 

1872. 



A LEGEND FOR PARENTS. 1 5 



A LEGEND FOR PARENTS. 

Demeter, wandering weary through the world 
In search of her lost daughter, hunger-pain 
Gnawing her heart, sat resting, sick and faint 
With fruitless longing, 'neath the portico 
Of a king's palace. 

And they brought a child. 
Pining and pale, from out the marble halls. 
To breathe the freshness of the evening air. 
Tears stood in her large eyes, tearless so long ; 
She loved it, for her lost Persephone, 
And rising all majestic, with a tone 
Of calm authority, she called the slaves — 
" Give me the child ! " They dared not say her 

nay, 
That mother, queenly, womanly ! The babe 
Lay in her arms and nestled, and she stood 
Like unto Holbein's virgin, pure and strong, 
While it smiled faintly, lifting its thin hand 
To touch her cheek, as if it knew that grief 
Had made her tender. And the pressure 

warmed 
Her lonely heart, so desolate for her own ; 
And long she sat upon the sculptured steps, 
Until the sunset tinted them with rose. 



l6 A LEGEND FOR PARENTS. 

Then stately came the mother of the child, 
The kingly father came ; and when they saw 
The babe revived and living, whom they deemed 
That night would lie all straight, and cold, and 

still, 
They welcomed her with hospitality, 
And with imploring eyes and eager words, 
Entreated her to tend it yet awhile, 
And help its wondrous cure. She raised her eyes, 
Full of immortal sorrow, let them fall 
Upon the babe, and said no more than this — 
** Give me the child ! nor seek to know my ways ! '* 
And there she tarried, waiting on the boy 
By night and day, feeding her craving heart 
Upon its beauty, walking on her way, 
And always brooding it upon her breast. 
And meeting with impenetrable look 
Their gaze of eager questioning : 

And aye 
Through the sick blaze and fury of the heat, 
The baby grew, and throve, and laughed, and 

played. 
Rolling upon the grass with rounded limbs. 
And with his clear blue eyes and peachy cheeks 
And golden curls, he seemed a wondrous child ! 
Yet no one saw her give him food or drink. 
Or fathomed all her weird and mystic ways. 



A LEGEND FOR PARENTS. 1/ 

*' A glorious child, and worthy of the Gods ! " 
The father said, proud of his princely boy ; 
But aye the mother trembled, and she watched, 
With doubting in her heart, and jealousy 
That hated to be thankful. 

Then at last. 
When she could bear no more, she stole within 
Demeter's chamber, where the child was hid, 
Entrance forbidden ; and she saw her there 
Giving the eager boy some fragrant food 
That filled the air with perfume sweet and strange ; 
Then in a bath of sparkling water laid. 
He crowed, and laughed, and splashed his rosy 

feet, 
And babbled in the fulness of his play. 
Yet from a crystal vase, a golden oil 
She poured upon his head and lovely limbs. 
And oftentimes the happy cherub laughed ; 
Then clasped the noble pillar of her throat, 
And lifted up his full, deep, thoughtful eyes. 
Drinking from hers a grave and solemn joy. 
And she, the awful mother, murmured words 
As soft, as simple as a peasant girl ; 
•' Demophoon, my life, my child, my own 1 " 
Rocking him slov/ly in her marble arms. 
While with a low, a penetrating voice. 
She crooned a mystic oracle of song : 



1 8 A LEGEND FOR PARENTS. ' 

From the arrows sharp of winter, 
From the cruel heat of summer, 
From the agony of losing, 
From deceiving, from betraying, 
From the nameless, secret gnawing 
Of all things unsatisfying. 
From despair, from degradation, 
From the rage of Aphrodite, 

I save thee ! I charm thee ! 

From the thunderbolts of Jove, 
From the madness of the brain, 
■ From the stain of shameful love, 
From the poison-touch of pain. 
By the mystic fire made pure. 
In thy power thou shalt endure ! 
I save thee ! I charm thee ! 

Live ! and know the bliss of living. 
Give ! and know the joy of giving. 
Know the rapturous outward doing. 
Know the peace of inward being. 
Trample 'neath thy feet temptation. 
Lift up others to thy living, 
Help ! be strong, be true, be loving ! 
Death shall never more come nigh thee, 
Grief and sorrow shall pass by thee ! 
I bless thee ! I charm thee ! 



A LEGEND FOR PARENTS. 19 

Thou art mine, and none shall take thee 
From the heart where mine I make thee I 
Ever fed on heavenly viands, 
Drink no more from earthly fountains ! 
Live for loving, live for blessing. 
Live forever wise and kingly. 
Like the Gods, in youth immortal ! 
I bless thee ! I charm thee 1 

Upon the hearth, the logs, but now ablaze, 
And leaping with red fire, had made a bed 
Of living coals, that wavering flamed and shone, 
And lighted up the twilight of the room 
With flickering shadows and a ruddy flash. 
There, glowing from the bath, she laid the child : 
Naked, all frolic, shrinking not a whit 
From the fierce heat, and covered him all o'er 
With the hot biting coals and ashes keen. 

No more could the wild breathless mother 

bear; 
Upon Demeter with sharp cry she sprung. 
To snatch the child from out its living grave ; 
Calling upon its father, and he came. 
And saw the boy lying within the fire, 
Rosy and happy, rubbing his sweet eyes. 
And murmuring, to be wakened from his sleep. 



20 A LEGEND FOR PARENTS. 

But they, all furious, tearing him from thence 
In frantic haste, clasping and kissing him. 
Heaped on her words of rage and bitterness. 

Demeter rose to her full height, and stood 
Colossal, towering o'er their tumult wild 
'With awful eyes, that on them flamed and shone. 
'* Ah ! fools and blind ! " her deep voice thun- 
dered forth, 
** Could ye not wait, and patiently abide ? 
Could ye not see that all was well with him ? 
He had been then Immortal ! worthy peer 
Of Gods, and godUke men ! // is too late /" 
And with that word she swiftly strode away, 
Nor looked upon the child, although they prayed 
In fruitless agony for her return. 
And heaped all altars with their sacrifice ; 
They never saw that solemn face again. 
Nor heard that queenly footstep in their halls, 
Nor the unearthly music of that voice. 
And the boy ! what of him ? He lived his life, — 
But the Immortals proffer glorious gifts 
Once, and no more. 



THE PINE AND THE PALM. 21 



THE PINE AND THE PALM. 

Thou can'st endure, oh proud and constant pine 1 

Thy voice is full of passion and of pain, 

And courage, for the duty that is thine 

To wait, although the struggle seem in vain. 

Sharpening thy needles to throw back the sleet, 

Clasping the rock with strong and faithful feet, 

Deepening thy root and spreading broad thy 

form. 
Conquering thy fate alike in calm and storm, 
And keeping green thy leaves for others' cheer, 
Through the long, icy silence of the year. 
Thy inward life of growth that cannot cease. 
Thy self-communing voice that sighs for peace, 
Strengthens thy heart to fight with far-off seas, 
To give thine aid in fiercer storms than these. 

Thou bearest still thy cross, 

Thy dreary, bitter loss. 
With steadfast hope, with spirit pure and bright; 
In starlight and the mystery of night, 
On Alps, and barren headlands by the sea, 
'Mid all of winter's cold and cruelty. 

Singing, wait for the light, and pray 

Spring will come ; time rolls away. 
Have patience then. 



22 THE PINE AND THE PALM. 

But thoit can'st triumph ! glad, victorious palm ! 
Freeborn thou springest from the bounteous 

plain, 
Living thy life 'mid light and glow and balm, 
Fearless of struggle, ignorant of pain. 
Broadening thy leaves to gather up the heat. 
Ripening for all thy fruit of gold and sweet. 
Towering and springing ever upward still ; 
Bright creature ! with a pure, unconscious will ! 
Outward, spontaneous life is thine, fair tree, 
Warmth, sunshine, boundless spring, and lib- 
erty ; 
For God hath blessed thee with the power to 

bless, 
The gift of always giving happiness ; 

Bearing aloft thy crown, 

And drooping gently down 
With sympathy for toilers in the sun ; 
Promising cool, still hours when day is done. 
Comforting with low and gentle voice. 
Rejoicing with the happy that rejoice. 

Singing glory to God on high*! 

Peace, peace for earth and sky ! 
Good-will to men ! 

187a 



THE PROPHET OF TO-DAY. 23 



THE PROPHET OF TO-DAY. 

Thou hast been long time with us ! When too 

late 
At last we know thee, Master. We were blind, 
And thou hast left us lonely, and hast joined 
The world's great leaders, ere we knew the 

power 
Of those deep, sweet Italian eyes. Farewell, 
Noblest of moderns ! Who so loved the world 
Thy long, sad life was given for us all ! 
Who so loved Italy ! and lived to see 
Her spring regenerate with thy strength and 

power, 
-From sleep and sloth, and ignorance and fear. 

Thou wearest more than even the martyr's 

crown. 
For thou wert wise to battle and to teach, 
And thine the power that tells us how to die 
Or live, for duty and for sacrifice. 
Yet death was ever near thee, for thou wert 
Of those to whom the blind and coward world 
Gives nothing but the hemlock and the cross. 
And after, deifies. 

Oh, could the world 



24 THE PROPHET OF TO-DAY. 

But learn thy noble lessons ! What are rights, 
And what are duties ! And thy noble scorn 
Even for liberty, enslaved to wrong, 
Even for rights, that have not duty's stamp. 

Oh, bless thee, Genoa! superb once more 

As thou wert then, when that strong generous 

• soul. 
The Doria, was thine own ! the king of men ! 
Thou hast the proud distinction, that thy great 
Have not forever loved themselves, but thee. 
Once a new world came forth from out thy loins, 
Now a new Italy. 

Aye, bless thee, then ! 
Thee, and thy sailors, beautiful and brave ! 

God bless thee, Italy ! Land of new light ! 
Thee and thy resurrection ! From thy tomb 
Of massive sculptured marbles thou dost rise, 
And with thy Rome new-crowned, may lead 

again 
Europe and all the East. We would grasp hands 
Across the sea with thee, our sister true, 
For born again, and of his spirit, thou ! 

United now at last, and young and strong 
Thou chasest in thy wrath the cowled ghosts 



THE FOUR ELEMENTS. 25 

Of the dead past. They go, the stately forms, 

Through the long streets of ancient palaces, 

With bell, and book, and candle, to their doom ; 

The fair sweet lies, never to come again ! 

Not yet thine hour of triumph, but 'twill come, 

When Liberty, and Purity, twin stars 

Shall glow together in a stainless sky. 

Thy kingdom shall be no more of this world. 

But thou shalt teach us wisdom, learned of him 

For whom we mourn with thee, who being dead 

Yet speaketh, giving us this word of Hfe, 

Freedom and Duty ! one forevermore ! 

1872. 



THE FOUR ELEMENTS. 

Beethoven is the wind that sweeps at will, 
Sounding o'er forests and their waters lone. 
In frolic zephyrs playing soft and still. 
Then swelling weird and wild in awful tone. 
Great, strong, and searching all our spirit's 

deeps ; 
A fury of strange force, that never sleeps. 

Chopin is water ; daring, changeful sea. 

And joyous brook, and softly shadowed lake ; 



26 THE FOUR ELEMENTS. 

Rushing, and singing runes of mystery, 
With sobbing undersong, for shipwreck's sake. 
Now all tumultuous life, bewildering motion. 
Now glittering raindrops, falling on the ocean. 

And Mozart is the gay, green living earth, 
Vocal with warbling bird and rustling leaf. 
With song and dance, and tender fitful mirth. 
And voice of man's full heart of joy and grief. 
In simple rapture soaring to the sky, 
Bringing sweet tears to every loving eye. 

And Mendelssohn is fire, that fuses life, 
Devouring all, to make us live again. 
While from the ashes of our doubt and strife 
He recreates our hope through burning pain, 
And the keen passion of his harmony 
Bears us into the light of worlds to be ! 

1873. 



TO F. MISTRAL. 2/ 



TO F. MISTRAL. 

A VOICE like his that blew so clear o'er Greece, 
A sound as of the wind from southern seas ; 
A voice like the wild stream that leaves the 

peace 
Of emerald Vaucluse for glowing leas, 
And dashes in its passion down the vale, 
Brown rushing to the hillside olives pale, 
A voice like summer's over plains of sand, 
And o'er the warm and pleasant Provence land, 
A voice like thy Mireio's, sobbing wild. 
Beautiful, tender, most unhappy child ! 
Such hear we sounding from the home once 

more 
Where Troubadours entranced the world of 

yore. 
And as we listen, charmed and rapt, we see 
Our time has not a singer like to thee ! 



28 FRANCE IN 1 87 1. 

FRANCE IN 1 87 1. 

Oh, never give her up ! 
Unhappy France ! 

She has drained a bitter cup- 
Look not askance ! 

Are we not all astray, 

Groping our darkened way ? 

Bewildered, frantic, wild, 
She stands at bay ! 

Pity and pardon once more. 
Although she has asked it before 
She has suffered cruel wrong. 
Suffered and struggled long ; 
Starved in body and soul, 
Betrayed when near the goal, 
Enemies all about her, 
Traitors within and without her. 
And why ? — She would be free ! 
She has loved Liberty ! 
She has loved much ! Alas, 
Not wisely but too well ! 
Liberty ! eager choice 
Of the strong, passionate voice 
Of her hot and earnest crowd. 
Threatens the tyrants aloud : 



FRANCE IN 1 87 1. 29 

And her terrible tocsin-bell 

Rings the oppressor's knell, 

Where'er he may lurk and hide, 

Wherever he sits in his pride. 

He trembles to hear it sweU ; 

And he hates, and deceives, and tries 

To drown those terrible cries. 

To circumvent the Fate 

That thunders low in the skies, 

With his dark and secret lies. 

And thus it is always too late. 
Too late, too late for France. 
Could she but have her day 
And time to learn the way. 
Freedom would find a path, 
A lighting path from the skies. 
And License would fly the wrath 
That shone in her hery eyes ! 

For France holds Freedom dear, 

And burns with many a thought, 

That makes the way more clear 

For Freedom to be wrought. 

Our roomy prairies yet 

Owe her a century's debt ; 

Her thought is a two-edged sword, 



30 FRANCE IN iS/I. 

Her word is a word of fire, 
Her breath is a scourge of the Lord ! 
She will not sink in the mire ; 
Though scorned^ disgraced and low, 
She is greater than we know ; 
She has a future still : 
Her keen and earnest will, 
Her love, her truth, her power, 
Will bring once more her hour. 

Alas, for her fallen name ! 
Alas, for her maddened crowd ! 
And yet not theirs the shame 
That her head to earth is bowed, 
That her hope and peace and trust 
Are trampled down to dust. 

Who held out a helping hand 
When she swam in the fiery flood ? 
Did any, pitying, stand. 
And try to stanch her blood ? 
In her hour of utmost need, 
Where did she find a friend ? 
Ah ! let our own free land 
Trust her, and wait the end ! 

But say not France is lost ! 
Were we thus starved and poor, 



INLAND. 31 

With half a century's cost 

At once brought to our door, 

Despairing, stricken, and low, 

Tortured, with blow upon blow. 

With dreary, long suspense, 

With labor throes intense, 

Till our blood were all aflame, 

We were as much to blame ! 

We have fought and struggled well 

With the dark powers of hell ! 

Our wounds, do they not bleed ? — 

God help her in her need ! 

^ 1871, 



INLAND. 



Here rosy snow peaks cut the twilight heaven, 
And boundless green savannahs roll below. 
New stars look down from dewy skies at even, 
And unfamiliar flowers in splendor glow ! 
Where is the sea ? 

Strange boughs wave round me, bright with 

fruitage golden, 
Lithe dusky forms look kindly on my way, 



32 INLAND. 

And wondrous cities, mystical and olden, 
Open their glittering gates, to lure my stay ! 
Where is the sea ? 

Oh ! for the sounds of rushing wind and ocean, 
The mingling, many-voiced, bewildering sea, 
The light, the power, the tumult and the 

motion. 
The air that is the breath of life to me ! 

Where is the sea ? 

Oh, for the stretch of brown and shingly 

beaches, 
Where dreaming childhood played the livelong 

day, 
For the bright water's wide and changeful 

reaches. 
The strong salt breezes, and the blinding spray ! 

Where is the sea ? 

Ye glorious mountains ! wonderful and lonely, 
I bow before your majesty divine ! 
But oh, forgive ! if I remember only 
Beyond you lies the sea for which I pine ! 
Where is the sea ? 

1862. 



THE OAK AND THE VINE. 33 



THE OAK AND THE VINE. 

Dear love ! when first I called thee mine, 
And life's new morning o'er us broke, 

'Twas the old story of the vine 
Supported by the stalwart oak. 

Scarcely I felt your light embrace ; — 
No burden, but a clinging bliss, 

Bringing a tenderness and grace 
With every twining tendril's kiss. 

Behold me now in life's decay ! 

My leaves are fallen, my boughs are torn, 
A hollow, sapless trunk, to-day 

I stand, upon the autumn morn. 

But rich with purple clusters sheen, 

A miracle of beauty thou ! 
For love, for hfe, on thee I lean ; 

Thy strong, kind clasp sustains me now. 

1866. 



34 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 



SONG. 

My love is mine ! my love is mine ! 

What have I done to be so blest ? 
Is it for me those sweet eyes shine. 

And say, *' Beloved, be at rest ? " 

Alas ! alas ! she loves not me. 

But some pure image of her heart, 

And yet I dare not say, be free ! 
Thou lov'st unworthily ; we part. 

Shine on me still, oh lovely eyes ! 

Till I become what I would be ; 
Till from my worthless self I rise 

To all your faith beholds in me. 



THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 

There lived a child who was a poet, once. 
And no one knew it but his mother — she 
Had read it in his eyes. 

The gleam of dawns, 
The glow of sunsets, dwelt within his heart; 



THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 35 

The sounding of the sea was in his dreams ; 
The Hving brooks were ever calling him ; 
Winds were his playmates, and the twinkling 

waves 
Upon long beaches ; and the lonely birds 
Flew but a little farther at his step. 
The magic of the sky among the boughs 
Held him in meshes of enchantment bound, 
And Nature marked him for her chosen seer. 
Before he knew why all things seemed to be 
Instinct with life, and speech, and song to him; 
Music half comprehended, as the flowers 
Scarce show their colors in the twilight gray. 

Older he grew, a solitary child ; 

And with his dreams a grave sincerity 

Mingled, and no one ever read his heart 

Except his mother, and she held her peace. 

Mute, lonely, with a quenchless thirst he strove ; 

Battling with longing for he knew not what, 

Except to utter all he saw without 

And felt within ; voices of winds and waves, 

Thoughts vague, unutterable, full of joy. 

Health bounded in his veins, an athlete he ; 

And thrilling through with life, and bliss, and 
youth. 

He fain would sing and shout his ecstasy. 



36 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 

Language was plastic in his skilful hand, 

And all things flowed in rhythm and in form. 

His ears had keenest instinct to perceive 

All Nature's finer melodies, the songs 

That like a shepherdess she warbles wild, 

And her great symphonies, where every voice, 

Earth, sea, the sun, the planets, and the far, 

Bright spaces that illimitable shine 

Where worlds are made — all poured into his ear 

Their paeans, and no less the little star 

That opens in the grass in earliest spring. 

The tiny Staffa caves, where giant elves 

Have made their causev/ays, pillared by the 

frost, 
Along the pathway glittering with rime, 
The tracery of winter trees, the webs 
That moonlight spins among them, and the stars 
Of snow, and icy needles on black pools, 
That mimic leaves and branches, told him all 
Their lovely histories, and his soul was bathed 
With glow and splendor of the summer noons. 
The lightness, and the grace of tender spring, 
The wealth and color of the autumn morns ; 
And where the snow peaks pierce the deeper 

blue, 
Above vast-rolling hills, and passes wild. 
Where waterfalls roar down the purple glens, 



THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 37 

He listened for the avalanche's voice ; 

And he had heard the secret of the Pine, 

She whispers only once a century 

To him whose ears can hear it. Ah, he knew 

The hidden mystery of the inmost shrine, 

Where the great Mother, veiled, majestic, sits. 

But when he grew at last to man's estate, 
His mother, she who understood him best. 
And loved him — she was dead — and lonely then. 
Hopeless and dumb he lay beside her grave, 
O'erburdened with the voiceless agony 
Of a first grief, that crushed him to the earth. 

But he loved well his country. Passionate, 

And full of ardent hope his love for her. 

His motherland, and when the hour drew near. 

The hour of fear, resolve, and sacrifice, 

He leaped upon the altar she had made. 

And vowed himself to her, and would have died. 

Smiling into that fair young mother's face. 

Save that she bade him live for her and hers, 

For she had nobler work for him to do. 

And then his harp rang out at last, for Truth, 

The grand old truth of ages and to-day. 

Freedom and Ditty arc forever 07te,, 

And on their bridal-day the zvorld is free / 



38 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 

But sometimes even harsh, and stern, and sad 
With righteous indignation were his tones, 
For yet he knew not what it was to love, 
And in his song were notes of bitterness. 
But still his voice rang true. 

And then, at last, 
Came the old madness o'er him, ever old 
And ever young — the open secret, known 
To all for whom the Sphynx has whispered it. 
He saw a face, he heard a woman's voice, 
And henceforth, all the v/orld was changed for 

him. 
He felt the warm spring sun, like floods of fire 
Run through his veins, and wake his soul to 

love. 
The white magnolias, gleaming on the air 
Like floating lilies, and the purple light, 
Through branches misty with the swelling buds, 
Had never seemed so magical before. 
For he was loved, and loved again — what more 
Could spring or summer bring ? For he was 

blest. 

And now he sang of love, and spring, and paths 
Wild-wandering under shady woods for aye. 
Of air and sunshine ; and again of love ! 
For what is there of good in earth or heaven 



THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 39 

Save only love, and love forevermore ! 

Then the world heard, andUstened, and it cried, 

He ! he is Eros ! ever young and fair ! 

He sings of love, and warbles like the lark. 

Of Morning and the East, and all things bright, 

And all things young, and strong, and beautiful. 

But ah, for youth, and strength, and love, and 

light ! 
A shadow fell upon them all one day. 
For they were parted. White and cold she 

lay — 
And the day came, when even that was gone, 
And there was nothing,— nothing but a grave ;— 
A little grass, where the wild autumn rain 
Beat cold and dreary, and the last red leaves 
Lay for a moment, and were whirled away. 

Then, he sat wrapt in sorrow, crowned with grief, 
King of an empty realm, a silent land. 
Once more upon the borders of that stream. 
Whose shadowed course no mortal knows, whose 

flow 
Is the outgoing of Eternity. 
And still a fiend kept whispering in his ear, 
Ah ! she is gone ! and never to return ! 
In all the worlds you will not find her now, 



40 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 

Decay and foul corruption ends it all ; 

And she, and thou, and all of us are naught ! 

Thus he walked, lost and veiled in his despair, 

Forgetting and forgotten in a dream, 

Till she looked down upon him from a star, 

And said, Ave are but parted for a space 

Full of God's creatures, for a little time. 

Crowded with his events and works and ways. 

He fills the breath of all the universe, 

And thou, and I, and all of us are his ! 

Take courage then ! He will not grieve us long ! 

The music of my sphere sings still of thee. 

And heaven is memory, and work, and love ! 

While he gazed upward, searching for the star, 
His soul took courage, and he sang once more, 
And the world listened ; and it knew the Hour 
Had come at last, the flower of all the time ! 
And then a strong and swelling murmur rose ; 
Our voice has come ! our Poet ! he for whom 
We waited long in silence and in pain ; 
Now the world's triumph, and the People's song 
Is uttered, for the fitting word is said ! 
The cry of voiceless millions, and the prayer 
Of hearts long mute in vague and yearning 
thought ! 



SONG TO THE DAY. 41 

The singer is our own, our chosen one, 
Child of this age, and ^ons yet to come ! 
He has known joy, and grief, and love, and war ! 
He has known Nature in her secret ways, 
And she hath brought him face to face with 

God. 
He is our own ! Glbry to God on high ! 

1873. 



SONG TO THE DAY. 

Oh, thou perfect summer day, 

Linger evermore ! 
Go not in thy bliss away 

From our island shore ! 

Bathe us in the liquid blue 

Of thy cloudless noon 1 
Aye entrance us with the hue 

Of thy leafy June ! 

Flood us with thy sunshine pure ! 

Perfume ! color ! song ! 
Can'st thou not a while endure ? 

Make thy rapture long ? ^ 



42 SPAIN. 

Ah ! the sweetest hours must go, 
Which thy grace hath blest. 

Ah ! but sunset, softly glow ! 
Linger in the west ! 



SPAIN. 

Flame, Sierras, with the morning red ! 

Bathed in glory of the coming day ! 
For the night's enchanted sleep is fled 

And the future darts its upward ray. 

Darts into the refuges of lies. 

Bidding Tyranny's last rear-guard yield ; 
Calling to the Present, live ! arise ! 

Saying to the Past, thy doom is sealed ! 

Welcome the new birth to life and youth ! 

Welcome health ! farewell disease and pain ! 
Welcome Castelar ! and welcome truth ! 

Welcome from America to Spain ! 



INARTICULATE SOUNDS. 43 



INARTICULATE SOUNDS. 

Deep mingling voices of tumultuous waves, 
Strong winds that sweep from unknown icy seas, 
Light wistful zephyrs rustling through the leaves. 
Shrill notes of lonely birds, deep in the woods. 
Breezes that usher in the solemn dawn — 

What do they mean? What would they 
say ? 

Passionate, fitful gusts on autumn nights, 
Faint, distant bleatings, long-resounding bells, 
Rushings of brooks in spring through rocky 

glens. 
Music that sighs among the swaying pines, 
Murmurings we know not whence, of silence 

born — 
What do they mean ? What would they 

say ? 

Low, ceaseless ripples, breaking on the shore. 
Strange, sullen roars, that come before the storm, 
Wild, inarticulate cries in wintry blasts. 
Mysterious groanings of the forest boughs, 
Unearthly sounds, that roll o'er tropic lands— 
What do they mean? What would they 
say ? 



44 INARTICULATE SOUNDS. 

The same dark secret, hinted, never told ; 
The same deep mystery, yet unrevealed. 
The ancient oracle, still vague and dim, 
Truth we would die for, hidden evermore ! 
All we would wrest from Nature or from God ! 
All we would know ! All we would say ! 

Can Nature know her meaning, yet be mute ? 
Or does she struggle like ourselves, to find 
The secret of her purpose, and her end ? 
And is her utterance, prayer, to grasp, to know? 
Or but to speak her inmost soul, and tell 

All she would mean ? All she would say ? 

Oh, for the magic word ! to ope the door 
Where, caverned deep, her hidden treasure lies ! 
The key-note to unfold the harmonies 
Of a discordant music, till it rolls 
In one free burst of glad triumphant song ! 
All we would know ! All we would say ! 

1866. 



SONG TO THE PINE. 45 



SONG TO THE PINE. 

Music 'mid the pine-tree sighing, 

As the boughs are softly swaying, 
Lingering long, and faintly dying, 

Tell me what would'st thou be saying. 
Every leafy harp-string breathing 
Melody's mysterious wreathing ; 
Whisper low, and tell to me 
What my future life must be ! 

Many secrets in thy keeping. 

Since thy first, thy tender springing, 
Hast thou, both of joy and weeping, 
And thy song their tale is singing. 
Winds that o'er the wide world wander 
Gather lore, for thee to ponder ; 
Have they whispered unto thee 
What my future life must be ? 

Ah ! the spell of thine own sorrow 
Keeps thee sighing on forever ! 

Naught to thee avails the morrow ! 
Thou wilt listen to me never ! 

Wailing still thine own despairing ! 

Whispering grief that knows no sharing ! 

Thou wilt never tell to me 

What my future life must be ! 

1865. 



46 NIGHTFALL. 



NIGHTFALL. 

Low In the west is a wild, red glow, 

Gloomily lowers the dying day ; 
I am o'erburdened with shame and woe ; 

Pray for me, child ! I dare not pray ! 

Vainly I lift mine eyes above ! 

God has forgotten his fallen child — 
Thy father has left his ruined love. 

And I were lost, if thou had'st not smiled ! 

Pray that the outcast may be forgiven ! 

Pray that the tempted no more may stray ! 
Thou art already so near to heaven ; 

Sinless one, for the sinful pray ! 

Kneel where the moon and the evening star 

Fitfully cast a shadow there. 
Thou art pure as the angels are ! 

Say the words of our Father's prayer ! 

Oh, He surely will hear thy call. 

Though thou scarcely the words can say. 

Save thy mother ! my life ! my all ! 
Pray for me, child ! I dare not pray ! 

1865. 



CLEARING. 47 



CLEARING. 

Wind from under the lifted cloud, 
Drive my darling over the sea ; 
Whistle and sing in boom and in shroud, 
Riding the white caps, bring him to me ! 

Star from under the lifted cloud ! 

Hast thou glanced far over the sea ? 

Where were his masts, as they rose and bowed. 

Little star, that's peeping at me ? 

Gleam from under the lifted cloud ! 
Green and crimson over the sea ; 
Spreading and riving the stormy shroud. 
Flame and glow on his path to me ! 

Moon from under the lifted cloud ! 
Golden acorn, over the sea. 
Bending and tilting thy crescent bowed. 
Smile on the way of my love to me ! 

1873. 



48 TWO DREAMS. 



TWO DREAMS. 

I SLEPT, and dreamed I saw a heavenly face, 
Where eyes of such unearthly beauty glowed ; 
I felt that I had found my dearest friend, 
The one who knew me, and who loved me best, 

The one I waited for ; 

The one whom life denied ! 

I waked, and never saw those eyes again, 
Though eagerly I scanned each lovely face, 
And searched into each fleeting ghmpse of 

heaven. 
That beamed from purest souls that loved me 
well, 
Awaiting still in vain 
The one whom life denied ! 

I slept, and dreamed that my last hour was come, 
And the death-angel stood beside my bed. 
Ah ! well I knew those deep immortal eyes. 
And, joyful, sprang to meet my truest friend ! 

And waited then no more. 

The one whom life denied. 

1864. 



SHIPWRECK. 49 

SHIPWRECK. 

Wild wind ! Terror black with death ! 
Sad storm, weeping on the shore ! 
Fierce gale ! Dreary fatal breath ! 
Triumphing that love's last hope is o'er, 
Wail ! wail ! for this world's bitter wrong. 

Deep sea ! vague mysterious voice. 

Cold, cruel, fair, deceitful sea ! 

Strong waves, that o'er our griefs rejoice. 

When the sweetest hopes are whelmed by thee ! 

Wail ! wail ! for this world's bitter wrong. 

Blue sky ! deepening as we gaze ; 

Far, far from us, yet ever near, 

Smiling clear, o'er storm and blinding haze. 

Ever one, our purest vision here. 

Smile ! smile !*for this world's glorious hope. 

Bright sun ! breaking through the cloud. 
Life-giver ! with thy kind caress. 
Scatter the shadows, sweep away the shroud. 
Teach us there is power and will to bless ! 
Shine ! shine ! for this world's glorious hope. 

Oh Life ! God deems thee little worth, 
Crushes thee, like feeble insect swarms 
4 



50 THE BURDEN OF THE SEA. 

For He knows it is not on the earth 
Thou canst rise to nobler, purer forms ! 
Death ! death ! thou art our highest hope ! 
Wait ! wait ! through this world's bitter wrong. 

1863. 



THE BURDEN OF THE SEA. 

Oh sea ! there is a sadness in thy smile, 
And in thy full, tumultuous ecstasy ; 
An undertone of fate and mystery, 
For grief, that thou forever must beguile, 
Sorrowful sea ! 

How thy low distant moan forebodes the gale, 
And sobbing whispers of the coming fear. 
Tremble through all thy caverns far and near, 
A sad Cassandra song, a warning wail. 
Prophetic sea ! 

Thy smile is sweet, thy voice is soft and low, 
There is a tender pity in thy song ; 
Among the rounded pebbles, all day long. 
The sam^e deep monotone, subdued and slow. 
Penitent sea ! 



THE BURDEN OF THE SEA. 51 

But when fate bids thee ravage and deform, 
Oh ! with what fierce despair, and wild lament 
Thou dost protest to earth and firmament ; 
And wildly struggle with the tyrant storm, 
Passionate sea ! 

And when the bitterness of death is past, 
And thou art tossing in thy restless sleep, 
Even then, forever murmuring, thou dost keep 
A memory, haunting every wreck-strewn shore, 
Remorseful sea ! 

Thou wilt not utter all the secret woe — 
The ruth, the anguish of thy laden breast — 
Yet thou hast lost forever peace and rest. 
And through the ages still must ebb and flow. 
Mysterious sea ! ■ 

Oh, speak ! we hunger for thy lore sublime ! 
Nor dread thy solemn lesson, stern ard brief, 
For in thy face we read thy love and grief, 
And patience with the faltering steps of Time, 
Unwearying sea ! 

1863. 



52 THE mother's VIGIL. 



THE MOTHER'S VIGIL. 

A BOY lay in the quiet sleep 

Of peace, and health, and youth ; 

His mother's eyes were fond and deep, 
And clear with love and truth. 

She saw what others could not see, 

Two forms come gliding silently, 
A secret watch to keep. 

One, of bewildering loveliness, 

A female form, stood there ; 
Weird beauty waved each rippling tress, 

And curved her bosom fair. 
Her eyes, strange lights of green and gold, 
Glittered, and seemed now shy, now bold, 

To promise, and to dare. 

She waved a wand with tinkling shells. 
And dreams came thronging fast. 

And wild intoxicating spells 
Their witchery o'er him cast. 

The other form stood still and dumb. 

For Aphrodite's hour had come. 
And Eros said, '' 1 wait ! " 



THE mother's vigil. 53 

An hour passed by ; a weary pain 
Sat on the sleeper's brow ; 

The glamour passes from his brain- 
He starts in anguish now ! 

Then sinks once more to dreamless rest, 

While near the waiting spirit pressed, 
In yearning love to bow. 

His eye's divine ethereal joy 

Shone pure from sin or guile, 
And gazing on the sleeping boy. 

With tender, steadfast smile- 
He beckoned dreams of love and calm, 
And waved above his head a palm, 

And murmured low the while. 

Then, though the crafty sorceress smiled. 

He said, '' This soul is mine I 
Thou hast not heaven's sweet work defiled ! 

A single hour was thine ! 
Now has he felt the bitter pain, 
The galling of thy golden chain. 

And knows my clasp divine ! " 

With a long sigh the sleeper woke. 
Nor deemed the day-dream true, 

For swift the magic vision broke. 
And vanished from his view ; 



54 MADRE MIA! 

All save a shade of thought more deep. 
But who had watched beside his sleep, 
None but his mother knew. 



1862. 



MADRE MIA! 



Sing of the ribbon in your lady's hair, 
And to her girdle all your homage bring ; 

Or '' Honi soit qui mal y pense^' declare ! 
My theme shall be my mother's apron-string ! 

For me she opened all her magic store, 

The fairy tales, the songs she used to sing ; 

My life's religion is the holy lore 

I learned, while playing with that apron- 



And when in youth's wild paths I fain would 
stray. 

And to that gentle chain no more would cling, 
I wandered far, in many a devious way. 

When I let go my mother's apron-string. 



THE ARTIST'S LOVE. 55 

Some men are bound by promise, or by oath, 
Some by the magic circle of a ring, 

But this loved tie is stronger far than both ; 
I cannot break my mother's apron-string. 

Dear yard of ribbon ! or perhaps of tape ! 

Thy blessed bonds forever round me fling, 
For oh ! I would not if I could, escape 

The pleasant fetters of that apron-string ! 

And when my life's long weariness is o'er, 
And to another sphere my soul shall spring. 

May I not find, upon that unknown shore, 
My clue to heaven may be that apron-string ? 

i860. 



THE ARTIST'S LOVE. 

TO F. E. C. 
I. 

My love has lips like linden buds 
First opening to the balmy air. 

And hair like twisted autumn floods, 
With golden woods reflected there. 



56 THE artist's love. 

Like beech leaves are her soft brown eyes, 
When russet with their winter hue 

They hnger 'neath the frosty skies, 
And sunset rays are glancing through. 

Faith's chosen flower, the lake's sweet saint, 
Floating upon the mirrored sky, 

Can bring me but an image faint 
Of that dear maiden purity. 

And when beneath the last light snow 
The Mayflower's secret haunts I seek, 

In all its perfect tints I know 
The varying colors of her cheek. 

All fair fresh life is hers at will ; 

Nature's kind boon to her is free ; 
She has all bounteous gifts, and still 

She freely gives herself to me ! 

Alas ! what have I to bestow. 

While I all life's best blessings gain ? 

She brings me Nature's bloom and glow. 
And Art must seek return in vain ! 



1 86a 



THE REPLY. 57 

THE REPLY. 
II. 

How is it thou hast naught to give, 

While all my soul awakes anew ? 
In thy deep love first learns to live, 

And trembling, grasps the golden clue ? 

And is it nothing to be dear 

Above each glorious hope and aim ? 

To dwell in Art's own atmosphere, 
And proudly wait thy perfect fame ? 

To watch thy pencil consecrate 

This common world with light divine ? 

With thee to pass the temple gate. 
And, fearless, seek the inmost shrine ? 

To share the bliss of tropic skies. 
Dream of wide water's endless fall, 

And float through many a paradise. 
Entranced with thee in magic thrall ? 

In thy bright world I dwell apart, 

'Mid cloud-land's glamour, sunset's glow- 
Nature's interpreter thou art ! — 
And hast thou nothing to bestow ? 



58 AN ANGEL. 

Art thou not great and wise, above 
My fondest dream's reality ? 

Yet I can give thee only love ! 
Thy gift is Immortality ! 



i860. 



AN ANGEL. 



There is an angel by thy side, 

She leads thee with a constant hand ; 

But all unlovely seems thy guide, 
Her beauty few may understand. 

Yet day by day, and hour by hour, 

With spiritual loveliness, 
She bids thee feel her living power, 

To teach, to strengthen, and to bless. 

Till, hke a fond and faithful wife. 

Whose every influence purifies. 
She grows for thee the life of life ! — 

Know'st thou the magic of her eyes ? 

With long, cool draughts of glorious wine 
She warms the heart, she nerves the hand ! 



BEWARE. 59 



Her name is Labor / she is thine, 
If thou can'st know and understand. 



i860. 



BEWARE. 



Beware of one who loves thee but too well ! 
Of one who fain would bind thee with a spell 
Of power to draw thee, as an unknown land 
Lures the impassioned traveller to its strand ! 
Oh, if thou would'st be free, 
Beware oi me / 

Beware of eyes that softly fix on thee, 
Tamed in their restless glances by thine own, 
And of a voice, where all things that may be 
In maiden hearts, is told in every tone ; 
If thou would'st still be free. 
Beware of me ! ' 

But if a longing, born v/ithin thy soul, 

Gives thee a far-off ghmpse of unknown bhss, 

Then let thy love speed onward to its goal. 

Nor thy true rest and joy for blindness miss ; 

If thou would'st not be free, 

Then come to me ! 

i860. 



6o FIRST LOVE. 



FIRST LOVE. 

A SUDDEN summer lightning flash, revealing 
All cloudland, gleaming in the gathering night, 
And on the dim horizon slowly steahng. 
In forms of ghostly beauty, still and white. 

Through the blank darkness snowy peaks are 
flushing, 

Wild magic lights and tender shadows play. 

From glacier caves seem foamy cataracts rush- 
ing, 

And Alpine realms dart instant into day ! 

Thus have thine eyes' quick flashes for me 

lighted 
The future, dark with mist-wreaths vague and 

wild, 
And shown me glory, where I, yet benighted, 
Saw but a gloom of toppHng storm-clouds piled. 

New vistas open, labyrinths of beauty, 
Bright spiritual ghmpses, angel forms. 
And more, the higher heaven of love and duty, 
Where quiet stars outwatch our earthly storms. 



THE NECKEN. 6 1 

Pure, piercing lightnings, beautiful in terror, 
Before whose glance the false and foul are 

driven, 
Flood all my heart, till, cleansed from every 

error. 
It breathes the air of stainless summer heaven ! 

1858. 



THE NECKEN. 

A NORWEGIAN LEGEND. 

The storm-rack drove across the sky, 
The mountain wind wailed mournfully 

Along the dreary vale ; 
But wilder yet than wind or cloud, 
Now sobbing faint, now swelling loud, 

Came music on the gale. 

Strange music ! not of earth or heaven ; 
As of a spirit unforgiven, 

Hopeless, yet patient long. 
An anguish, bitter, uncontrolled, 
A grief that never could be told. 

Save by that weary song. 



62 THE NECKEN. 

The priest was hastening from the storm ; 
His fireside hearth glowed bright and warm 

Far on the winding way ; 
He shuddered when he heard the strain, 
And grasped his trembUng courser's mane, 

And hardly dared to pray. 

Upon the lonely bridge he stood. 

Where gloomed around the black pine wood, 

And hills rose bleak and high : 
The peasants viewed the spot with dread — 
It was a haunted stream, they said ; 

And no one passed it by. 

Still stood the priest in fear and awe — 
For by the shadowed stream he saw 

A figure bowed v/ith weeping ; 
The arms were folded in despair, 
Drooping the face and golden hair, 

With pain that knew no sleeping. 

Hark ! the wild song burst forth again" ; 
A wistful, sad, and yearning strain, 

Loving, yet hoping never. 
But the priest felt no pitying grace, 
And sternly said, '' Forsake this place. 

Spirit unblest, forever ! " 



THE NECKEN. 63 

Then with a shriek, as though a whole 
Eternity swept o'er his soul, 

The Spirit seized his rein : 
" Oh, holy man ! who God may see, 
Is there forgiveness then for me ? 

Or everlasting pain ? " • . 

Contemptuously his lip he curled, 

And answered, " He who made the world 

Will never pardon thee ! 
As well expect the staff I bear, 
Should spring's own buds and blossoms wear ; 

Once more a fragrant tree ! " 

Scarce had he spoke the word unkind. 
When swelling buds broke through the rind, 

Spread broad each leafy fan ! 
All spring's sweet miracle was there. 
And blossoms perfumed all the air. 

More merciful than man ! 

Then the priest melted into tears : 
^' And have I lived so many years, 

And never known my God ? 
Thou, from whose law I never swerved. 
And vaihly deemed I rightly served, 

Father, I kiss thy rod. 



64 THE NECKEN. 

'' Go, Spirit ! wait in hope the end ! 
Thy unknov/n God is still thy friend ; 

E'en thou, mayst be forgiven ! 
I go to kneel, and weep, and pray, 
And, like a child, to learn the way 

To love, and truth, and heaven ! 

** And oh ! may love's own blossoms start 
Even from my cold and arid heart. 

And make a summer there ; 
That yet my sinful soul may know 
Sweet pity's utmost overflow, 

For sorrow and despair." 

With one strong blast the clouds were rent : — 
Flooding the western firmament 

The sunset glory shone. 
And full of chastened joy, arose 
A song that breathed a soul's repose, 

Whose long despair had flown. 

1858. 



ON THE SHORE. 65 



ON THE SHORE. 

The pale, cold sunset over lonely seas, 

The granite coast that frowns upon the sand. 
Are all that recompense me for the breeze. 
The cruel breeze, that bore her from the land. 

Ere now she glides along through tropic airs ; 

Green islands, bathed in mist, before her pass. 
Where each strange tree some golden fruitage 
bears. 

And orange flowers lie scattered on the grass. 

Fair forms, sweet odors, joyous warbling birds. 
Winds, wafting sounds of spring-time glad 
and free. 
Are meet for her as music fo.r sweet words— 
As meet as winter loneliness for me. 

Will the spring come again ? Will iron frost 
Unlock his icy doors and bid us live ? 
Will summer bring again the loved and lost. 
And warmer seas once more my treasure give ? 

Wait thou in hope, my heart ! Be strong in love ! 
Nor listen to the promptings of despair ; 
But conquering, rise thy selfish dreams above. 
And trust the hours that bring her gladness there. 
5 



66 SONG. 

She will not thus forget thee ! and when spring 
Voices for brook and bird once more has brought, 
Oh voiceless heart, still mute, still worshipping, 
May'st thou not find the words thou long hast 
sought ? 

1856. 



SONG. 

River ! take the flo\¥ers she gave, 
Gently float them far away, 

Till they find a quiet grave 
'Mid the ocean spray. 

Pale, unreal, moonlit stream ! 

River, take them to thy breast ; 
Go, sweet flowers and faded dream, 

Onward to your rest \ 

Treasured flowers, gone forever ! 

Thus do fairer things than these 
Float away upon life's river. 

To eternal seas. 



love's humility. 6^ 

I. 

LOVE'S HUMILITY. 

How little am I worth to him, 

Though he is all in all to me ! 
Within his world I wander, blind, 

Yet sometimes dream that I may see. 

For he is great, and I am low, 
Gifted he is, and wise, and good. 

And I, a simple village maid. 

Whose dower is but her maidenhood. 

His mind has scaled the sunlit heights 
Where mine would follow him in vain ; 

He does not waste a thought on me, 
I may not think of him again ! 

And is it folly thus to dream ? 

No ! for his sake I learn to live 
The life of higher purer faith 

The heart's true love alone can give. 

His noble life my treasure is ! 

I see the greatness few can see, 
And distant far I follow him. 

And thus he ever lives for me ! 



68 SHADOW AND SUNSHINE. 

II. 

SHADOW AND SUNSHINE. 

I WANDERED on the upland slope, 
Whose fall is toward the inland sea, 

And loitering there, I dared to hope, 
Unworthy as I am, for thee ! 

The distant landscape sparkling lay 
By rivers winding to the shore. 

And smiling villages were gay, — 

While still I dreamed of thee once more ! 

One sheltered home beside a grove 
A haven seemed of peace and rest ; 

And musing on a life of love 

My eyes and thoughts it still possest. 

A cloud was floating slowly on. 
Its shadow darkened all the vale ; 

And all the glorious radiance gone. 
From hill to hill it seemed to sail. 

Its blackness rested on the spot 

Where late the smiling sunshine slept. 

Ah, cruel doubt ! he loves me not ! 
And hope departed, and I wept ! 



THE WATER-LILY. 69 

The shadow wandered on its way, 
O'er seas and islands far and wide, 

And brighter shone returning day — 
I turned, and thou wert by my side ! 

We Hngered long upon the slope, 

And gazed on cloudless heavens above ; — 
No more I dreamed of trembling hope, 

For hope was lost in faith and love ! 

1854. 



THE WATER-LILY. 

We were together by a lonely river, 

A little shady river, 

A rock-strewn, restless river, 

A swift and sparkling river, 

Whose waters were forever 
Twisting and hurrying round the gnarled roots. 
And shooting silent under mossy banks 
Of fragrant mould, and heaps of last year's 

leaves. 
Far upward, where the boughs and sky were 

blent. 
With snowy islands on the quivering blue, 



yo THE WATER-LILY. 

In tender beauty, like a waking dream, 

The sun wove golden threads among the 

leaves 
And interlacing lightly pencilled twigs, 
And glorified the early summer's green. 
We wandered there through half the morning 

hours, 
And silently, along that forest stream. 
My loved one sought the Water-Lily's home ; 
But I could find no words for what I sought. 

But still, the foaming river, 

The rushing, headlong river, 

The deep, impetuous river, 

Most passionately ever 
From secret nooks revealed what I would say. 

Still we strayed on, although no flowers ap- 
peared 
In all its tangled course. But side by side 
In the young summer of unspoken love. 
We followed still for hours that wayward river, 
'Mid labyrinths of rocks and fallen trees, 
Where the stream disappeared awhile, revealed 
By its sweet voice alone. She seldom spoke, 
But ever warbled, full of happiness, 
Low snatches of sweet songs, and woodland 
birds 



THE WATER-LILY. 71 

Made timid answer fi'om the forest depths, 
And still the wild and wandering little stream 
Gurgled its undersong amid the stones, 
And pine leaves breathed their low mysterious 
sighs. 

And still, the hurrying river,— 
The flashing, murmuring river, 
The leaf-strewn, dancing river, 
The clear and pebbly river, 
Quietly, pensively, ever 
Whispered the earnest words I dared not say 1 

Now, we had wandered to a glassy pool. 
Where the tired stream lay resting for a while ; 
And speckled trout were glancing to and fro. 
Their shadows darting o'er the rippled sand. 
Blue dragon flies were hovering in the sun. 
The rushes on the brink grew green and broad, 
And one great oak o'er-canopied the place. 
And there at last, the virgin queen of flowers 
Lay, lightly floating in her purity ! 
And borne upon the waves, her spreading 

leaves 
Sought, like a lovely fleet of fairy rafts. 
The tiny bays and inlets of the shore. 

While still the sunlit river, 

The sedgy, silent river, 



72 THE WATER-LILY. 

The softly dreaming river, 
The Hly-blossomed river, 
With tender longing, ever 
Gazed on my love, and told what I would say. 

She bent her toward the pure and nymph-like 

flowers, 
And her face glowed and brightened, as she 

cried. 

Give me my water-lily. 

My best-beloved flower ! 
Another moment, and the prize was hers ; 
And from my arms receiving it, she kissed 
The snowy leaves, and breath'd its perfume pure. 
While she stood, silent, mirrored in the stream. 
So like the flower she loved, her golden hair 
Lit by a sunbeam, and her snow-white dress 
Half hidden by her graceful sea-green scarf, 
The river lent me words at last, to speak 
All that its deep and sympathetic voice 
Had murmured for me through the quiet noon. 
I stretched my arms toward her I love, and cried. 

Give me my water-lily. 

My best-beloved flower ! 
And silently I clasped her to my heart. 

And knew my flower was mine ! 

While still the lonely river, 



THE PUBLIC SCHOOL. 73 

The sweet, enchanted river, 
The golden, gleaming river, 
The tender, smiling river, 
With its sweet voices, ever 
Told to our hearts all that we could not say. 

1853. 



THE PUBLIC SCHOOL. 

« 
Through the dusty school-room window 

I see their carriage pass ; 
Oh, leave my thoughts a moment free, 

My Httle busy class ! 

I dream of the long vacation 

He passed at our quiet farm. 
Of rambles in the moonlight ; 

Of a voice, whose tender charm 

Told of a love that would not change 
Till life and death were o'er : — 

But I have been true, true, truey 
For twenty years and more. 

She sits in snow-white ermine, 
A faded hothouse flower \ 



74 THE PUBLIC SCHOOL. 

In her hair the diamonds glitter, 
But her face is cold and sour. 

And he ! how worn and gray he looks ! 

How dark, and furrowed, and old ! 
His eyes are gazing far away. 

With many thoughts untold. 

His place is proud as any 

In the gorgeous world of pride ; 

But less of gloom had shadowed him^ 
Had I been by his side ! 

For me, the struggle was long and hard. 
But peace came back at last. 

I would not live my life again, 
For all the vanished past ! 

Ah ! duty is strong and bitter-sweet, 
Though life be dull and bare ! 

But oh ! if there be a heaven for me, 
That woman must not be there ! 

Thus at my school-room window, 

I often see them pass ; 
And I am the happiest of the three, 

Here, in my Httle class. 



THE DOVES OF VENICE. 75 



THE DOVES OF VENICE. 

I STOOD in the quiet piazza, 
Where come rude noises never ; 

But the feet of children, the wings of doves, 
Are sounding on forever. 

And the cooing of their soft voices. 
And the touch of the rippHng sea, 

And the ringing clock of the armed knight. 
Came through the noon to me. 

While their necks with rainbow gleaming, 
'Neath the dark old arches shone. 

And the campanile's shadow long. 
Moved o'er the pavement stone. 

And from every ** coigne of vantage," 

Where lay some hidden nest, 
They fluttered, peeped, and glistened forth, 

Sacred, serene, at rest. 

I thought of thy saint, oh Venice ! 

Who said in his tenderness, 
** I love thy birds, my Father dear, 

Our lives they cheer and bless ! 



^6 THE LEGEND OF MANDETHAT. 

*' For love is not for men only ; 

To the tiniest little things 
Give room to nestle in our hearts ; 

Give freedom to all wings ! " 

And the lovely, still piazza, 

Seemed with his presence blest. 

And I, and the children, and the doves. 
Partakers of his rest. 

1873. 



THE LEGEND OF MANDETHAT, THE 
CONSTANT. 

FROM THE RAMAYANA. 

A HUNDRED thousand summer flowers 

In light were blending. 
The branches, glittering with the showers. 

Were downward in their worship bending. 
The warrior to the valley came, 

From vales afar. 
Lured by the magic of her name. 

The maiden called the Southern Star ! 



THE LEGEND OF MANDETHAT. 77 

Sudden the red and belted sun 

Dropped, rolled in splendor ; 
A little breeze had just begun 

To whisper histories low and tender. 
A perfect garden, moonlit, shone, 

Dark bowers among, 
Where nightingales in silver tone 

And little leaping runlets sung. 

Never a fairer garden gleamed 

By Indra*s dwelling ; 
Never more burning rapture streamed. 

Than that sweet, eager bird was telling. 
He wandered through the grateful shade : 

The branches part ! 
And listening too, he sees a maid. 

Too lovely ! in her wonder start. 

While looking up, a heavenly face 

Shed glory o'er him ; 
Beyond the moon in tender grace. 

It glimmered and it shone before him. 
First love began its fiery reign ; 

Love at first sight. 
When youth and transport laugh at pain. 

And all the future melts in light. 



78 THE LEGEND OF MANDETHAT. 

They loved ! but oh ! a father's ban 

Soon parts the loving. 
*' Thou first must show thyself a man ; 

Thy valor in five battles proving ! " 
Lo ! Mandethat, the constant one, 

Hastens afar ! 
Farewell, till all the wars are done ! 

Thou wilt be true, my Southern Star ! 

Through four great fights the warrior well 

For love contended, 
But struggling in the fifth, he fell ; — 

Ah, that such noble life was ended ! 
In purgatory's realm remained 

A single year ; 
His faithful soul, then all unstained, 

Rose to its pure and crystal sphere. 

Pausing before the angel's face : 

" My pain is over, 
*' But ere I enter, grant me grace, 

*' The Southern Star may meet her lover ! " 
** I will," replied the angel grave, 

*' And must I tell 
^' Thy punishment ? I may not save ! 

*' Thou hast ten thousand years in hell." 



THE LEGEND OF MANDETHAT. 79 

** Then I accept it ! " was his cry ; 

And swift he darted 
Down to the land where snow peaks high 

The clouds in clear effulgence parted. 
Then flying eager to his goal, 

Swift to her side ! 
Alas ! for that great, constant soul ! 

The maiden was another's bride ! 

To the stern angel spake he slow, 

With anguish burning : 
** For a lost soul some pity show ! 

*' In vain ! in vain was my returning ! 
*' Have I not suffered ? look on me, 

" And count the cost ! 
'' Thy keen, immortal eyes can see 

'' How I have loved, how I have lost ! " 

The angel saw his tearless face. 

Wistful, entreating, 
Ages of pain, his glance could trace 

Concentred in a moment's fleeting. 
*' Enter, true soul ! thy trial o'er ! 

'* I know full well, 
*' Oiie instant's pain may torture more 

*' Than twice ten thousand years in hell ! " 

1873. 



■i\ 



PART II. 



EXPERIENCE. 



THE BIRTH OF THOUGHT. 

Oh 1 there are hours in youth's glad prime, 
When thought is born within the soul, 

And childhood's gay and happy chime 
Turns to a slow, a mournful toll. 

O'er careless joys of early years 

Gather the mist-wreaths, faint and dim, 

And life, the coming life, appears 
An unknown sea we fear to swim. 

We dream of life, we think of death. 
We fear our strength and hope will fail ; 

We feel the gathering tempest's breath, 
But dare we meet the stormy gale ? 

All we have heard of grief and sin 
Rushes upon the fainting heart,— 

If this be life, ere it begin 
Let us in ignorance depart ! 

Oh I hearts can suffer thus alone. 

While brightly glows the tearless eye, 

Nor deems the world, that trifles on. 
How soon we see its vanity. 



84 THE DAWN. 

But youth is strong, and hope is bright, 
Or many a heart would sink and die. 

While gazing forth into the night, 
Where unknown shadows hover nigh. 

The self-sustained the storm will breast. 
The timid soul grow sick with fear. 

The God-sustained, in hope, in rest, 
Knows that a guide and friend is near. 

1853. 



THE DAWN. 



Long the fog hung o'er the plain. 
Thick and white, a cloud-built wall ; 
But at nightfall, fell the rain. 
Slowly through its heavy pall 
Ghostly mist-banks fled away, 
Stars shone clear before the day. 

Solemnly the dawn came forth. 
Calm, transparent as a gem. 
Snow-white clouds were in the north, 
Arthur's wain looked out from them. 
Is there, day or night, an hour 
Like the solemn dawn in power ? 



THE DAWN. 85 

Large and full, the morning star 
Trembled in the trembling light, 
Stealing gently from afar, 
Rosy tinges touched the white, 
And the yellow moon hung low 
O'er the river broad and slow. 

Like the sigh that slumberers breathe. 
When they know that they have slept, 
From the silent boughs beneath, 
Stirring, wavering whispers crept, 
Till the rushing wind of dawn 
Fitfully came sounding on. 

When I slept, my heart was dark. 
Shrouded in a misty pall ; 
Peace had wandered from her ark ; 
Tears at last began to fall ; 
Falling through my troubled sleep. 
Even in dreams I could but weep. 

Looking forth upon the dawn. 

All seemed once more pure and clear ; 

Doubt and darkness both were gone ; 

A still voice I seemed to hear. 

For with God I stood alone. 

And God's truth upon me shone ! 



86 FAREWELL TO THE OLD YEAR. 

All is well ! Love on, true heart ! 
Love forever more and more. 
Life is but a little part 
Of the mist-enshrouded shore. 
Onward comes the perfect day, 
Dawning faint, and far away ! 



1855. 



FAREWELL TO THE OLD YEAR. 

The old year said to me, as he lay dying, 
Why dost thou look upon my face with sighing ? 
A gush of happy tears prevented my replying. 

Old year ! blest year ! oh, ever can another 
Lead me like thee as gently as a mother, 
Kindly reprove me, like an elder brother ? 

Untried the future years are slowly creeping. 
Oh, year of years ! my life was in thy keeping. 
And thus I stand beside thy couch with weep- 
ing. 



DREAMLAND. 8/ 

Loved year! lost year! thy latest breath is 
fleeting. 

A stranger comes, with slow and solemn greet- 
ing. 

Oh, speak to me once more ! and bless our 
meeting ! 

True friend, we part ! Though many men will 

blame thee. 
And with blind hearts -will thanklessly defame 

thee, 
As God's eternal angel still I claim thee ! 

Farewell ! 

New Year's Eve^ 1856. 



DREAMLAND. 



There was a land my youth and childhood 

knew. 
Ere yet their heaven-taught wisdom I unlearned, 
A land where all was beautiful and true. 
And Hfe's pure flame in peaceful glory burned ; 
Beauty was law, unknown were sin and pain : — 
Why did'st thou fade ? Sweet dreamland, come 

again ! 



88 DREAMLAND. 

Flowers of unearthly radiance ! nevermore 
Can woods and fields your fairy fragrance bring ! 
Oh, magic-throated birds ! the song is o'er, 
That made a miracle of every spring ! 
Weird palace-splendors in the sunset skies. 
What lost horizon hides your witcheries ? 

Deep summer blue of heaven ! I quaff not now 
The intoxicating rapture of thy hue, 
Nor sail on each white cloud, whose darting prow 
Points to far countries, wonderful and new. 
Fresh from God's hand, untouched by wrong or 

stain, 
Sweet dreamland ! wilt thou never come again ? 

Where now are those who peopled that fair 

shore. 
Simple as childhood, wise, and true, and good. 
As a dear mother's kind and holy lore ? 
(Faith fails us now in man half understood !) 
Angelic friends, whose love we vainly crave — 
Are they all lying, dreamland, in thy grave ? 

Ah ! vain are such regrets. Life onward flows. 
And brings realities, that sternly sweet. 
Wind round our hearts, and give their own re- 
pose ; 



PROPHETIC WISHES. 89 

Blest duties ! leading on our wayward feet ; 
But the wild wish will spring, a yearning pain ; 
All else are dreams. Sweet dreamland, come 
again ! 

Oh, dear lost land of love, and joy, and Hght ! 
Art thou forever vanished from our eyes ? 
No ! sidelong glimpses bless our aching sight, 
And busiest hours bring swift-winged ecstasies. 
And when to weary lids calm rest is given, 
We shall awake, and find that thou art heaven ! 

1857. 



PROPHETIC WISHES. 

Oh ! that the passionate desire to bless 
Might ever find its way to life and light ! 
Nor fret and murmur like a hidden stream, 
Wasting its power away in hollow caves, 
Listening to its own endless echoing fall, 
Wearing away its dripping walls of stone ! 
Once give it freedom, calm, and swift, and strong, 
How might it sparkle smiles to cheer the heart, 
How fertilize a broad and teeming land. 
And bid kind labor's busy multitudes 



90 I BLESS thee! 

Swarm on its plenteous banks, to dwell in peace ! 
How dance and glitter for the dreaming child, 
And bear pure liHes for his eager hands ; 
Oh, quenchless thirst ! thou canst not here be 

stayed, 
For power and will to one are seldom given ; 
Yet thou art blest ! deep longing ! bitter pain ! 
For God would never torture us for naught. 
And from the restless aims that gnaw us here, 
He points us onward ! 

Here, we learn to will, 
The power, comes after. We are children yet, 
And but begin our lives before we die. 
For love's most unattainable desires 
Are our best hopes of Immortality. 

1857. 



'' I BLESS THEE ! AND THOU 
SHALT BE BLEST ! " 

Away with discontent and fear. 
Unworthy inmates of thy breast ! 

Nor let old age come creeping near. 
I bless thee ! and thou shalt be blest ! 



I BLESS THEE ! 9I 

While love is left to us on earth, 
While quiet courage still remains, 

While hope can still renew her birth. 
The manly soul itself sustains. 

For life is sweet, whate'er they say. 

The morbid lovers of unrest. 
And with love's sunshine, every day, 

I bless thee ! and thou shalt be'blest ! 

Each moment, brings it not anew 

Some miracle of living power. 
Wrought by love's strength for me and you ? 

Need we despise the present hour ? 

Since one who cares for thee is near, 
Can'st thou not find thy perfect rest ? 

I love thee ! and thou should'st not fear ! 
I bless thee ! and thou shalt be blest ! 

1858. 



92 NEW YEAR S EVE. 

NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
1859. 

Forgetting all the things that are behind, 
And pressing on to those which are before ! 

Thus spake a living and a mighty mind, 

When his stern struggle for the truth was o'er, 

And faith and patience saw, in vision blest, 
Eternal rest ! 

Forgetting all ? The mystic and the seer. 
Fled to the desert and the cloister lone ; 

The wild ascetic, self-tormented here, 

Deemed that the future glory would atone 

For all the dreariness of wasted life 
And ghostly strife. 

But why should we forget ? God has not said 
Forget the sweet affections he has given ! ^ 

Forget the mother's voice that gently led 
Our childish steps along the way to heaven ! 

Forget our youth's enchanted memories 
And fairy skies ! 

Forget the joys of a young mother's breast 
When infant eyes first open on her own ? 



NEW year's eve. 93 

Forget love's rapture ? when we find our rest 
At last in one true heart ; no more alone ? 
No ! vain to me were even eternal bhss, 
Forgetting this ! 

Yet would we still forget, and cast behind, 
All of our scorn, our hate, our faithlessness, 

Our doubt, to life's true secret ever blind ; 
Our cold distrust, our slow desijre to bless, 

Our careless hearts, that see a brother's grief, 
Nor bring relief. 

Old, hollow creeds, that live for us no more, 
Thoughtless unkindness, cowardly delay. 

Unworthy loves, whose magic thrall is o'er. 
And falsehoods, eating heart and life away ; 

Oh ! let us thus forget each doubt and sin. 
And life begin ! 

Onward ! press onward ! onward to the strife ! 

Forward, with courage and with patience too ! 
Onward to love and peace ! to hope and life ! 

Press to the mark ! to our high calling true ! 
In gentleness, and power, and silent strength, 
Conquer at length ! 

1859. 



94 MUSIC. 



MUSIC. 



Music ! come ! I long for thee ! 

Bring me comfort ; bring me peace ! 
Lift my spirit, soaring free, 

Upward, where all longings cease ! 

Wander in oblivious airs, 

Let thy highest boon be given, 

Sing away my earthly cares, 

Bring me transport ! bring me heaven ! 

Deepen into solemn chords ! 

Let me worship ! let me pray ! 
Utter more than holiest words ! 

All that love would yearn to say ! 

Bid the present cease to be ! 

Bid its trifling torments fly ! 
Do thy utmost ! speak for me ! 

To be silent is to die ! 

Let thy loftiest symphony 

Hold me with its rhythmic bars ! 

Fiery chain of harmony, 

Link me with the spheres and stars ! 



MUSIC. 95 

Thrill with bliss through every vein ! 

Let a human voice divine, 
Pierce me through with longing pain, 

Warm my soul like draughts of wine ! 

Pour forth joy deHrious, mad ! 

Quaintest freaks, ecstatic, wild ! 
Tender rapture, sweet and glad 

As the kisses of a child ! 

Music ! cease ! thou tellest me 

But of what I ne'er shall know; 
Bliss that love can never see, 

Nor the hfe of life bestow ! 

Beauty, hid from earthly eyes, 

Goodness never ripened here, 
Love, of some lost paradise. 

Peace, unknown to saint or seer ! 

Music ! cease thy sweet regret ! 

Never can'st thou reach the goal ! 
Thou art vain ! I find thee yet 

But the echo of my soul ! 

i860. 



96 A VISION OF GRIEF. 



A VISION OF GRIEF. 

I SAID, I will be one with grief, 
Nor God,. nor man shall bring relief; 
Nor hope shall come, nor love, nor sleep, 
Where Death and I our vigil keep. 

No smiles for me of earthly things, 
No sound but from his brooding wings, 
No light but from his eyes of stone ; — 
With him and my despair, — alone ! 

Yet while I spoke, a helpless band 
Of children stood at my right hand ; 
Children who never childhood knew, 
But in their need and darkness grew. 

Wild, hungry eyes were fixed on me, 
Bright, eager eyes, that yearned to see. 
And blank, dull faces, where sweet prime 
Had brought no consciousness, but crime. 

And women stood before me there. 
Some, patient in their long despair. 
Or stunned with blows, or faint for food, 
A squaHd, maddened, sullen brood. 



A VISION OF GRIEF. 97 

And men, with faces seamed with toil, 
And slow and meek and weary smile. 
And decent wives, who vainly strove 
To cheer their bare, bleak homes with love. 

I saw the convict's stealthy glance, 

I saw the dreary ambulance. 

Where calm white lips, with fluttering breath, 

Mute, wistful, patient, waited death. 

From dens of infamy and shame. 

From slave marts, prisons, hells, they came ! 

A crowd of eager misery ! 

The eyes of all were fixed on me ! 

A deep voice sounded in mine ear, 
Arise ! thy woes and griefs are here! 
With God and man no more at strife ; 
Awake ! arise ! and live thy life ! 

With nobler, truer aims, I said, 
I will arise ! and bowed my head ; 
For Death's hushed pinions fanned the air. 
And white-robed Peace stood waiting there ! 

1861. 



98 SONNETS. 

SONNETS. 
I. 

\ LOVE. 

I DO not love thee with a slavish dread, 

Forever waiting on a master's eye, 
Nor to a sensual Sultan bow my head. 

Accepting thee as fate and destiny. 
Nor would I with a woman's despot power. 

Capricious, wish to rule thee to my mood ; 
Such homage is but transient beauty's dower, 

Such tyranny, unworthy womanhood. 
Love is no iron fetter of the soul. 

But true election, freedom good and wise, 
Each from the other feels a calm control. 

Like God's pure law in human lips and eyes ; 
His love is perfect freedom, so is thine, 
And ever wast, or thou hadst ne'er been mine ! 



SONNETS. 99 

II. 

MARRIAGE. 

Yet while a woman's pride proclaims me free, 

A woman's love, her own free gift, is thine, 
Else were the paltry boon unworthy thee ; 

Thy image far too noble for its shrine. 
But now, I dare to lift my head, and say, 

A manly love, a passion without guile, 
Is a possession none can take away. 

Nor steal my sunshine from thy bounteous 
smile ! 
Thus am I evermore, as now, thine own. 

Still more and more thine own, as years pass 
by. 
Life draws its sweetness but from thee alone. 

And pride forgets herself in ecstasy ! 

Thus, though my love, my self, my thoughts are 

free. 

Their liberty is consecrate to thee ! 

1856. 



100 DOUBT. 



WHY? 



Oh why ! with sins to be forgiven 
Should we usurp the keys of heaven, 

Excluding one another ? 
Why in the world God loves so well, 
Would we ourselves create a hell 

For him we call our brother ? 

Oh, for Burns' kind, relenting faith ! 
The sweet St. Martin's summer breath ! 

Origen's tender soul ! 
A Milton's pity, deep, though stern. 
Could even for rebel angels yearn. 

Beyond his creed's control ! 



1858. 



DOUBT. 

/ 

Oh mine enemy ! hast thou found me ? 

Always by my side ! 
Fiend ! can I escape thee never ? 

Would'st thou be my guide ? 



SYMPATHY. lOI 

When I deem that thou art conquered, 

Upward thou dost dart ; 
Full of life, and power, and malice, 

Striking at my heart ! 

All the lovely blue thou darkenest 

With thy gloomy wings ; 
Making bare the earth of beauty, 

Blank, all earthly things ! 

God himself, where is he vanished, 

And his heavens above ? 
Where are friends, and loves, and children? 

What avails to love ? 

Oh mine enemy ! show me only, 

Art thou truth, or he ? 

Once to know thee, surely, fully, 

Gladly would I die ! 

1862. 



SYMPATHY. 



We may not hope for perfect sympathy 
Except, oh God, from thee ! 

From hearts that beat the closest to our side, 
Our purest thoughts we hide — 



102 SYMPATHY. 

And some, oh ! would that they might never be ! 
We fain would hide, even from ourselves and 
thee ! 

Our children wander with us, hand in hand, 

A love-united band ; 
And pour into our hearts each simple truth. 

In wild wood-paths of youth ; 



But soon some vision tempts them far away, 
And all alone, o'er fallen leaves we stray. 

We train their early dreams to be like ours, 
When playing with life's flowers ; 

But thought begins to dawn within the heart, 
And then, perhaps, we part ! 

Love is again with her own thoughts alone : 

They love us still — we are no longer one. 

But perfect love and life abide with thee ! 

Thou understandest me ! 
Thou art the truest, closest Friend of all ; 

And when to thee I call, 
I know thy sympathy and love are mine ! 
No cloud, no doubt, can mar this trust divine ! 

1854. 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 103 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

Yes, there are months, and days, and hours, 
When Hfe is more than we can bear, 

And all our soul's concentrate powers 
A voiceless cry, a ceaseless prayer ! 

All thought is sharpened to one fear, 
All love is changed to one keen dread. 

Will the cup pass that draws so near ? 
Will the storm lull with morning red ? 

And we must walk alone, by night, 

Over the fiery wilderness, 
Nor e'er betray to others' sight 

The anguish of our long distress. 

Oh, Father ! pity thy poor child. 
Who cannot bear her burden long. 

Oh ! lift the shadows black and wild 
In the dark vale, or make her strong. 



104 NEW LAMPS FOR OLD ONES, 



NEW LAMPS FOR OLD ONES. 

The lamps that shone updh our way 
Grow old, and dim, and pale — 

We deemed them an eternal day ! 
Alas ! and must they fail ? 

They flicker, till the last faint spark 
Goes out, and all is dark. 

Friends that we loved in early youth 

Leave us, or cease to love us ; 
Hearts that we deemed the stars of truth 

Beam forth no more above us ; 
Lost in the strange and solemn breath 

Of the cold mist of death ! 

The sweetest hopes will fade and die, 

And vanish utterly 
The creeds we called the light of life : 
Their rays grown dim with doubt and strife, 

Wavering and helpless, shine no more. 

Their little day is o'er. 

There is a twilight of the mind, 

A splendor of the night. 
When we have learned to leave behind 

And shun each worthless hght : 



NEW LAMPS FOR OLD ONES. 10$ 

A better radiance then we know ; 
God's lamps begin to glow ! 

His new lamps full and lambent rise, 

As sudden, we are 'ware, 
The evening star stands in the skies 

When naught we deemed was there ! 
And o'er us gather troops of stars, 

With moonlight's golden bars. 

New loves, new friends, new creeds divine, 

Strong hearts to love us yet 1 
New gleams in kindly eyes still shine, 

Nor do we e'er forget 
How the old lamps upon us shone — 

So faithful, yet are gone ! 

Thus God lights even the midnight skies 

With flame all new and clear. 
Until the long night wears away 

And the white dawn is here ; 

And all is flooded with the ray 

Of the eternal day. 

1870. 



I06 MORNING-GLORIES. 

MORNING-GLORIES. 

Ye lovely vases, brimming with the morn ! 
Cups, overflowing with life-giving Avine ! 
Ye need no perfume, of the senses born, 
To add a magic to your thrall divine. 
Faultless in form and hues, ye greet the day ; 
Too fair from heaven's ether long to stay ! 

The charm of evanescence, poets sing, 

Is sweetest, and 'tis yours above all flowers ; 

Like children's eyes, Oenothera's opening, 

Sunsets and rainbows, dawns, and April shov/ers, 

The daytime is not worthy of your grace, 

Nor this gross world to be your dwelling-place. 

What power ethereal has the dawning given 
To you, of all her angels purest far ? 
Oh, spiritual flowers ! so fresh from heaven ! 
Ye lift the soul to meet the morning-star ! 
With wings of youth, with beauty not of earth, 
Clear from the East, the light of the new birth ! 

1873. 



TO M. P. K. 107 



TO M. p. K. 



Bowed down with grief and loneliness, I lay- 
Beneath night's gloomy pall. 

I knew the cup could never pass away 
Before I drained it all. 

Far from my friends, and in a stranger land, 

Under those ahen skies, 
I waited for a dawn, where no kind hand 

Would beckon me to rise. 

But as the daybreak through the window shone, 

With ivy wreathed fair, 
I felt that I no longer was alone : 

A redbreast warbled there. 

Cedar of Lebanon ! in thy dark tree 

He came to find a rest. 
And sang to all of those who suffer, see 

The blood upon my breast ! 

Emblem of pain, and of the fire of sorrow. 

It shone out clear and bright, 
Nor could I ask for more, on that strange mor- 
row, 

Than that small spark of light. 



I08 - ON THE BAY. 

And as I bowed myself to bear my cross, 
Full of the comfort of that holy red, 

You entered, and I felt no more the loss 

Of a kind breast whereon to lay my head. 

God bless thee, friend ! for each kind word and 
deed ; 
God bless thee ! friendly little bird. 
Ye both have cheered me in my hour of need, 
Ye both my heart have stirred. 

1868. 



ON THE BAY. 



In the gleam of a chill December day, 
I watched the light break over the bay ; 
Sharply it shone on the sails of snow. 
It struck like a sword the waves below, 
Keen from the gull's broad wings it flashed, 
And clear, wild gleams on the distance dashed. 
Yellow and wan on the withered grass, 
Of the shelterless, lonely shore we pass, 
And the whitewashed wall, all dreary and low, 
Where felons had gone to a death of woe. 



ON THE BAY. IO9 

And I said, Is life as hard and cold 
As this pale, metallic ray of gold, 

In the gleam of December's day ? 

Yet, as I stood on the windy deck, 
Passing the shoal where mouldered the wreck, 
A gloom came over the wave's dull green, 
And the white caps took a livid sheen ; 
Leaden and ashy the sea-gull flew, 
And chilly the wind from the dark cloud blew, 
As if from a wintry world alone, 
Where crashing Icebergs grind and groan. 
Against the horizon the sails were black. 
And inky the shores on our forward track. 
And I said, is death as heavy a shroud 
As the shadowy shore, as the murky cloud ? 
As the gloom of December's day ? 

Then I looked up to the fadeless blue, 
Where the piled-up clouds let the glory through. 
Onward and upward the spaces cleared, 
And broader, and deeper the vision appeared. 
And I said, there Is something, we know not 

where. 
Instinct, or dream, prophetic, fair ; 
Beyond this life, and Its dreary gleams, 
Beyond this death, and its solemn glooms ! 



no IMMORTALITY. 

What it is no angel hath told, 
How it is no tongue can unfold ; 
Never a hand can guide us there, 
But its whisper saves us from despair, 

In the gleams and the glooms of the day. 

1868. 



IMMORTALITY. 

Life is hard, but God is just, 

Though his fates seem stern and wild 
Yet in all his worlds there must 

Be a future for that child ! 

Depths on depths are in her eyes ! 

Dark and liquid mine they meet, 
In a wistful strange surprise, 

-Searching all the dreary street. 

Has she ever grasped a flower ? 

Have those feet, all bare and cold, 
Ever frolicked for an hour 

On the fresh and dewy mould ? 

Yet those eyes immortal shine, 

And unutterable things, 
Undeveloped, yet divine. 

Tell us that her soul has wings. 



TO O. T. J. Ill 



Somewhere, softly glows her star, 
Opening wide its gleaming gate ; 

But her heaven is dim and far, 
And how lone she has to wait ! 



'fc. 



Father ! through this discord wild, 
Rings thy music, low and clear, 

But this lonely little child ! 
When will she awake to hear ? 



TO O. T. J. 



Sail on, sail swiftly on, my bark, 
Into the rainbow's rim ! 

The cloud Is gray, the sea is dark, 
The slantino; rain is dim. 



'i=> 



^S73- 



But she who stands where the rainbow lies 

Bathed in the colors seven. 
Her wish exhales to the upper skies, 

And is answered, there, in heaven ! 

Is it a wish, or is it a prayer ? 

Or a thought on darting wings. 
That I would breathe for my darling there 

Where the bow of promise springs ? 



112 SACRAMENTS. 

Speed on, my bark ! fly to thy goal ! 

Into the rainbow's rim ! 
The under-currents of my soul 

Flow only unto him ! 

Bay of Messina, 1870. 



SACRAMENTS. 



If in our daily sacrifice 

Our hearts to love and wisdom rise, 

By any baptism beside 

Need we be cleansed and purified ? 

And when we break the bread, to share 
With some lost child of want and care, 
Is not the sacrament divine 
As consecrated bread and wine ? 

All deeds are sacraments to him 

For whom the vision is not dim. 

Who reads God's message, clear and high, 

With eyes of utter purity. 

Yet symbols to the soul are dear, 
And sympathy and love and cheer 
Are by united worship given 
To loving hearts, on this side heaven. 



1862. 



THE DIAL. 113 



THE DIAL. 

Oh young and fair ! and lost so long to me ! 

Where art thou in the worlds afar or nigh ? 
Is there no voice, nor language that may be 

An answer to my strong and bitter cry ? 

All, all is silence ? will not for an hour 
The curtain lift,' the awful stillness break ? 

Or be the wherefore told, or word of power ? 
Or are we sleeping now, and must we wake ? 

For while thy dial marks the hours for me. 
Or falls the leaf, or springs the grassy blade, 

Time may be naught and less than naught to thee. 
And all thy past a dream, and I a shade. 

I stand beside thy grave — no, not thy grave ; 

Thou can'st not thus be lying here so long, 
Yet we may pray, and weep, and mourn, and 
rave, 

Without one echo from th' eternal song. 

Where'er thou art is sunshine ! but for me 
A shadow fell, and still is falling far, 

(Since thy bright face I never more can see) 
Across God's universe, from star to star ! 
8 



114 AT A CONCERT. 

But still shine on, oh sun ! on leaf and blade, 
And mark the quiet moments as they fly ! 

Her's be the sunshine still, and our's the shade, 
Till the unveiling of the mystery. 

New Haven, 1S72. 



AT A CONCERT. 



I HAVE seen a friend who is dead — 

Not dead, but dead to me, 
And the past of twenty years returns 

Again to rny memory. 

Hushed is the listening crowd. 
The symphony rises and falls, 

But I hear not the stormy music, 
I see not the frescoed walls. 

I am young ! I am young once more ! 

And those whom I loved are near ; 
They live, ensphered in some distant star, 

But thou, thou art dead, yet here. 

Years they have passed away, 
Life it has come, and death ; 



AT A CONCERT. II 5 

Funeral bells, and marriage bells, 
Christening, and bridal wreath. 

And farther, farther drifting 

Away, and away from our side, 
We lost thee ! friend and brother, 

And still the gulf grew wide. 

Now as he stands before me 

After long silent years. 
The dear old days come back again, 

I see them through my tears. 

Alas, he has long been dead — 

Not dead, but dead to me ! 
Forever closed is the doorway, 

Rusted the silver key. 

Ah, youth and love were sweet. 

And friendship had tender flowers ! 

Depart, and leave my soul in peace, 

Ghost of my happier hours ! 

1872. 



Il6 THE CHICKADEE.. 

THE CHICKADEE. 

Oh, little bird that lov'st the grave, 

How sharp and clear thy tone 
Pierces the stillness of the day, 

Rings through the spaces lone. 

In the still noon I hear thy note, 

While patters the soft rain ; 
And on the grass the red leaves fall 

That cannot live again. 

All tenderly the autumn wind 

Touches the cross of gray ; 
And through the mist, thy faithful mate 

Calls faintly, far away. 

It ceases in the gentle calm, 

My heart's slow toll I hear ; 
And in the hush that is not peace, 

I know that God is near. 

1871. 



HITCH YOUR WAGON TO A STAR. Il7 

*' HITCH YOUR WAGON TO A STAR." 

When God reveals to us His awful will, 

And He has brought us face to face with 
Truth, 

While in a world of misery hushed and still. 
What shall we do for succor or for ruth ? 

Ah what? one little hand against the tide. 
One httle voice to drown the swelUng tone. 

One little heart, the whelming waves to ride, 
One feeble will, to struggle on alone 1 

Hath He then left us to ourselves, to stray 
Amid foul wastes and pathways dark and 

dim? 
How simple ! place ourselves upon His way, 
And only follow, closer follow Him ! 

Trust Him for others, too ! The road grows 
clear, 
The light spreads broader as we walk therein, 
The star before us glows with blessed cheer ; 
All is not sin, that seemeth to be sin. 

1873- 



Il8 NIGHT ON THE NORTH SHORE. 



NIGHT ON THE NORTH SHORE. 

Dark and light are mingled on the sea, on the 
• shore, 
Dark and light are mingled in my heart, 
Broader streams the light-house the velvet waters 
o'er, 
Tenderly the twilight tints depart. 
Brighter gleam the lamps in a long, steady row, 

Gliding boats are shining red and green. 
And far adown the straits the familiar windows 
glow, 
Calmly on the ripple lies their sheen. 

Flashes keen the sickle as it sets in the west, 

Jupiter a jewel in the blade ; 
Mars is red as love upon the Virgin's breast. 

Bending low, she hastens to the shade. 
Rises now the Scorpion, with necklace of fire. 

Downward sHdes a long, sudden ray. 
Was it then a star, or a firefly that came 

Over all the soft milky way ? 

Majesty of color pulses on the night. 
Streaming wide in glorious surprise ! 

Leaps up effulgence of em'rald, rose and white ! 
Doth the new Jerusalem arise ? 



NIGHT ON THE NORTH SHORE. II9 

Palaces, and curtains, and sparry caverns vast, 

Chrysolite columns upward roll. 
Ah ! the light hath triumphed over darkness at 
last ! 
Light, too, hath triumphed in my soul. 

1873- 



PART III. 



THE WAR. 

Forget not the solemn, the ^-f^"---^;^-';;"c^^,. 



LIBERTY. 

Oh momhig star ! we worship thee ! 
We love thee with a passion and a pain ! 
To the gray east our watchful eyes we strain, 

We glory in thy clear, prophetic ray ! 
The night is long, and slow, and full of tears, 
Haunted by shadows, and beset with fears j . 

Chill blows the wind of dawn upon our way; 
Oh ! bring the day ! 

Oh ! morning star ! we worship thee ! 
We have been patient all the weary night, 
Faith hath not left us, hope is clear and bright. 

Nourished by love that cannot know decay. 
Full, living Phosphor, with thy promise sure, 
Thou art God's holiest angel, shining pure, 

With the broad glory of his perfect ray ! 
Oh, bring the day ! 

Oh, morning star ! we worship thee ! 
A solemn gleam is in the eastern sky, 
A cloudy crimson banner waves on high 1 



124 SONG OF LIBERTY. 

Thou holy, stainless light, no longer stay ! 

Or wild with tempest, dim with mist and cloud, 

Or clear with God's calm sunshine, free from 

shroud, 
Still for the light ! the Hght ! we ceaseless pray ! 
Oh bring the day ! 

i860. 



SONG OF LIBERTY. 

Wild waves ! loud beating on the shore ! 

Strong winds ! far sweeping o'er the sea ! 
Oh speak ! in stern prophetic roar, 

Your solemn lesson to the free ! 

Now the appointed hour is come ! 

Long stood the patient world in vain ; 
Suffering its multitudes, and dumb ; 

Now swells the cry of hope and pain. 

Hark ! how it rolls along the shore ! 
Hark ! how it sounds across the sea ! 



SONG OF LIBERTY. 12$ 

Oh ! on your peril, hear it roar, 
Heed well the cry for Liberty ! 

Ages have come and passed away, 

MilHons have lived, endured, and died ; 

Now wakes the world to life to-day ; 
Now calls, and will not be denied ! 

Hear it, upon Itaha's shore ! 

Hear it, across the icy sea. 
Unceasing, saying evermore, 

God's children, ye shall all be free ! 

Who seeks to turn the torrent back ? 

Who dares to stay it on its course ? 
Perish upon the lava track ! 

Fly ! speed before its fiery course ! 

Time waits on the eternal shore, 

Worlds wait on the ethereal sea ; 
Wait for our voice, forevermore 

Swelling the chorus of the free ! 

On ! on in hope, united land. 

Fail not upon the fated day ; 
Lest from thy cold and coward hand 

God take his priceless gift away ! 



126 TO G. W. C. 

Sing from the old Atlantic shore 
Far to the broad Pacific sea ! 

North, South, East, West, forevermore 
Join in the song of Liberty ! 



i860. 



TO G. W. C. 



What if wild war's alarums rise. 

And shattering bolts of death fly past ? 

So peace comes softly from the skies, 
And rests on one dear house at last. 

Sweet vernal flower, we bless thy birth ! 

A comfort in the gloomy hour, 
A harbinger of Peace on earth. 

While far and near the tempests lower. 

Yet the kind God whose gentle hand 

Leads mothers through the hour of pain, 

Will he not bring a wakening land. 

Tried, purged with blood, to peace again ? 

We bless him for each glad new birth. 
Though bitter anguish lies between 



PEACE WITHIN. 12/ 

The rest that comes to us on earth, 
And the glad hope of the unseen. 

Blessings upon the breaking morn 
Of the new love that lately smiled ; 

God bless the nation newly born ! 
God bless the mother and the child ! 

April i6thi i86l. 



PEACE WITHIN. 



The waving of the palms of peace 
On some fair shore of sunny bliss, 

Within my heart doth never cease, 
Through all the agony of this. 

I hear the fierce and cruel rage 
Of nations in their enmity, 

The good are sad, perplexed the sage, 
The wrong triumphant dares to be. 

And o'er the sea, from far and near 
They cry that discord cannot cease ; 

And still soft rustling, still I hear 
The waving of the palms of peace ! 



128 NATIONAL HYMN. 

Through earthquake shock, and demon strife, 

The germs of each celestial tree, 
Lie waiting yet their quickening life, 

And soon their blossoming shall be. 

For in my dream, forevermore. 

Their swaying murmur cannot cease, 

I hear it from a distant shore, — 
The waving of the palms of peace ! 

1861. 



NATIONAL HYMN. 

Mother-land ! full of the bounty of heaven ! 
See how we love thee, kind mother and mild ! 
While the sweet rest that thy bosom has given 
Waits for each wandering, each suffering child. 

Firm, though thine iron will 

Strikes every traitor still. 
Ah ! how thou lovest ! however we roam !. 

Thy smile across the sea 

Lures weary men to thee ! 
Smile then forever ! and bring us all home ! 



NATIONAL HYMN. 1 29 

Broad be thy freedom as boundless savannahs ! 
Deep be thy love as thy rivers that roll ! 
Brotherhood shine like the sun on thy banners ! 
Faith in thy God be the strength of thy soul ! 

Onward and never fail ! 

Face the storm ! breast the gale ! 
Earning, not buying, thy glory and peace ! 

Spread wide thine arms and clasp 

All in love's tender grasp ! 
Then shall our anguish, our misery cease ! 

Shelter us all from the storm and the thunder ! 
Shelter us all in the broad burning day ! 
Hold us, when passion would rend us asunder, 
Keep us still near thee, when wild we would 

stray ! 

Lose not one erring child, 

Dear mother, strong and mild ! 
See how we yearn for thine honor and truth, 

Our blood ! our lives for thee ! 

Friend of our Liberty ! 
Lead us to God in the day of our youth ! 

1861. 



130 THE GIFT OF GOD. 



THE GIFT OF GOD. 

Thou hast pointed us the way, my brother ! 

All of us will follow after Thee ! 
CalHng us now, from the bosom of Thy Mother, 

Onward ! and come away with me ! 

Thanks to the Father ! although our hearts are 
breaking. 
That he has taken back his gift ! 
Making it a sacrament, that all men are par- 
taking, 
All by Thy dying to uplift ! 

Many are the hearts that soon must be shrouded, 
Many homes be desolate like this ! 

Darkening the sunshine of summer all uncloud- 
ed;- 
Many lips have given their last kiss ! 

Hid for a moment in the grave is the leaven 

Every heart awakening ere long ! 
Brother ! dost Thou know amid the bliss of 
heaven. 
How Thou hast made thy brethren strong ? 

1861. 



RACHEL. 131 



RACHEL. 



I HEARD a woman weeping, in my dreams, 
Weeping, still weeping, in a land of streams ; 
A crown of stars upon her brow she wore, 
But some were dim, and some were quenched 
in gore. 

My sons, she said, I loved you like a bride ! 
To save your mother you have left her side ; 
Alas, for those I never more may see ! 
I loved my children, but they die for me ! 

Where are the manly hearts for me that beat ? 
Where are the strong arms and the willing feet ? 
Where are the brave young spirits, leading on 
The van of freedom ? silent now, and gone ! 

Yet I could weep, and look to God, and bear 
The weary anguish of my long despair ; — 
A deeper sorrow e'en than this may be — 
I loved my children ! they are false to me ! 

I stretched my clasping arms to them in vain ; 
They would not heed my bitter cry of pain. 
Had I not glorious gifts, my sons, in store ? 
Have you forgot my pangs for you of yore ? 



132 THE COMING GOSPEL. 

My punishment is more than I can bear ! 
Oh, grant me patience ! look upon my care ! 
For I have sinned, oh God ! before thy sight, 
And long must be my penance, dark my night ! 

I saw a woman weeping, in my dreams, 
Weeping, aye weeping, in a land of streams ; 
A crown of thorns upon her brow she wore, 
For none could comfort ! none the lost restore ! 

After Bull Rim, 1861. 



THE COMING GOSPEL. 

Sweet gospel of the opening spring ! 

God's best evangel here below ! 
Hasten, with bounteous blossoming. 

With sun, and shower, and burst, and flow ! 
Thy kind, familiar blessings pour ; — 
But ah ! this year we ask for more. 

Thy fields are dyed with bloody stain, 
Cover them, tender spring, with flowers. 

Where every hero's form has lain. 
Sow violets through the sunny hours. 



THE COMING GOSPEL. 133 

And hide the scars of war and strife 
With all thy sweetest, warmest life. 

Blow, gales of spring, and bring us peace ! 

Breathe forth the message of good- will, 
Heal every wound, bid folly cease, 

And every rebel heart be still ! 
Wave o'er the land the emerald grain, 
Nor redden yet its hue again. 

And one more message gladly bear, 

Dear liberator ! kindly spring ! 
May the past year of storm and care 

Its lesson in thy voices sing ; 
Freedom through all the wakening land ! 
Be this the bounty from thy hand ! 

God's patient angel ! fair and sweet ! 

Thy smile is sure howe'er we stray ; 
The mayflower and the windflower greet 

Our erring or our onward way ; 
But now, oh spring ! we trembling. wait 
The opening of thy heaven's gate. 

Bid hearts from icy fetters break ! 

Like rivers set the people free ! 
With Nature's Hfe let conscience wake ; 

Bourgeon the flower of Liberty ! 



134 OUR mother's voice. 

With April's soft, repentant tears 
Wash out the wrong, the sin of years I 

But If our dark and bitter crime 
Not yet may be atoned, forgiven, 

And sternly still, should coming Time, 
Avenge the outraged will of Heaven, 

Then bring us patience, faithful Spring, 

To wait Hope's tardy blossoming. 

1862. 



OUR MOTHER'S VOICE. 

1863. 

Crowned with thorns I stand upon the moun- 
tain's brow, 
Gazing where the storms of night are rolling 

now. 
Listening how the never-ceasing thunder rolls, 
Harkening to the winds like lost and suffering 

souls. 
Over my fair streams are inky shadows cast. 
Crashing fall the forests, prone before the blast ; 



OUR MOTHER'S VOICE. 135 

Rages wild the gale, o'er land and over sea, 
Tremble not, my children, toil, and trust m me! 

1864. 
Crowned with stars I stand upon the mountain's 

crest, 
Waiting still to clasp my children to my breast ; 
All I love will come, their wars and wanderings 

o'er. 
Nevermore rebellious, weary slaves no more ! 
All, except my dead, the brave, the true, the 

young. 
And the traitor serpents, who my heart nave 

stung; . 

Upward still and upward, climbmg on their 

way, 
Winds the crowd in darkness, toward the com- 
ing day ! 

1865. 

Crowned with light I stand upon the mountain 

height ! 
Backward rolls the storm, the shadows break m 

light ! 
Muttering thunders die away beyond the sea. 
Floods the morning o'er my children and o'er 

me 1 



136 ON PICKET DUTY. 

And the future shines before me through my 

tears, 
In the solemn dawn, I see the coming years ! 
Glorious years, the world has never dreamed or 

known ! 

Take them, oh my children ! they are all your 

own ! 

1863. 



ON PICKET DUTY. 

Within a green and shady wood. 
Circled with spring, alone I stood. 
The nook was peaceful, fair, and good. 

The wild-plum blossoms lured the bees, 
The birds sang madly in the trees, 
Magnoha scents were on the breeze. 

All else was silent, but the ear 
Caught sounds of distant bugle clear, 
And heard the bullets whistle near ; — 

When from the winding river's shore 

The Rebel guns began to roar. 

And ours to answer, thundering o'er ; 



ON PICKET DUTY. 1 3/ 

And echoed from the wooded hill, 

Repeated, and repeated still. 

Through all my soul they seemed to thrill ! 

For as their rattling storm awoke. 
And loud and fast the discord broke. 
In rude and trenchant words they spoke. 

'* We hate f " boomed fiercely o'er the tide, 
*^ We fear not ! " from the nearer side ; 
** We strike ! " the Rebel guns replied. 

Quick roared our answer, ** We defend ! " 
^' Our rights ! " the battle sounds contend ; 
*' The rights oi all ! " we answer send. 

** We conquer ! " rolled across the wave ; 
** We persevere ! " our answer gave ; 
** Our chivalry ! " they wildly rave. 

*' Ours are the brave /'^ '' Be ours the free ! " 
*' Be ours the slave, tJie masters we/ '^ 
*' On us their blood no more shall be ! " 

As when a magic word is spoken, 
By which a wizard spell is broken. 
There was a silence, at that token. 



138 ON PICKET DUTY. 

The wild birds dared once more to sing, 
I heard the pine-boughs murmuring, 
And trickUng of a silver spring. 

Then, crashing forth with smoke and din, 
Once more the awful sounds begin ; 
Our iron lips roll forth, ^' We win ! " 

And dull, and wavering, on the gale 
That rushed in gusts across the vale. 
Came back the faint reply, '' We fail / " 

And then a word both stern and sad 

From throat of huge Columbiad ; — 

*' Blind fools and traitors ! ye are mad ! " 

Again the Rebel answer came, 

Muffled and slow, as if in shame, — 

^^ All, all is lost I " in smoke and flame. 

Now bold, and strong, and hard as fate 
The Union guns sound forth, '' We wait ! '* 
Low comes the distant cry, '' Too late / " 

'' Return ! return ! " our cannon said. 

And as the smoke rolled overhead, 

'' We dare not ! " was the answer dread. 



ON PICKET DUTY. 1 39 

Then came a sound both loud and clear, 
A godlike word of hope and cheer ; — 
<* Forgiveness ! " echoed far and near, 

As when beside some death-bed still, 
We watch, and wait God's solemn will, 
A bluebird warbles his soft trill. — 

I clinched my teeth at that blest word, 
And angry, muttered, '' Not so. Lord ! 
The only answer is, the sword ! " 

I thought of Shiloh's tainted air. 

Of Richmond's prisons, foul and bare. 

And murdered heroes, young and fair ; 

Of block, and lash, and overseer, 
And dark mild faces, pale with fear 
Of baying bloodhounds, panting near. 

But then, the gentle story, told 
My childhood, in the days of old. 
Rang out its lessons manifold. 

Oh, prodigal and lost! arise ! 

And read the welcome blest, that lies 

In a kind Father's patient eyes ! 



140 TO A. F. 

Thy elder brother grudges not, 

The lost and found should share his lot, 

And wrong in concord be forgot. 

Thus mused I, as the hours went by, 
Till the relieving guard drew nigh, 
And then was challenge and reply. 

And as I hastened back to line. 

It seemed an omen half divine. 

That ** Concord" was the countersign. 

1864. 



TO A. F. 



Three years have gone, three checkered years, 
Since first began our country's woe, 

And I have shed some bitter tears. 

And days have passed me sad and slow. 
Thou knowest why, my friend ! 

And still, my heart swells high with pride 
Since first my country's glory came. 

Musing on those who nobly died ; 
My hope is high, my blood aflame ! 
Thou knowest why, my friend ! 



THE hero's mother. 141 

But yet I bless those vanished years, 

Nor from our God would call them back, 
For all their sorrows, all their tears ; 
Because upon their changeful track 
They brought to me a friend ! 

1864. 



THE HERO'S MOTHER. 

TO S. B. S. 

With what quick thronging hopes, what wishes 

wild. 
The mother, gazing on her firstborn son, 
Dreams, of a glorious future for her child, 
A goal of triumph for the race begun. 

The world's new Saviour lies in quiet sleep. 
Clasped to a heart that knows not fear, nor care ; 
Upward those little feet their way shall keep, 
Nor sin, nor sorrow taint the mountain air. 

Oh weeping mother of that island home. 
That home so beautiful, so desolate, 



142 THE hero's mother. 

All that thou couldst have dreamed or prayed is 
come; 

All that thou couldst have asked is given by- 
fate. 

Would'st thou the hero's crown, the martyr's 

palm? 
The saintly aureole, love's myrtle wreath ? 
All rest with that brave hand, that brow whose 

. calm 
Told of the steadfast faith that dwelt beneath. 

He sleeps with those he loved, and died to save ; 
Oh, land of youthful heroes ! hast thou known 
A purer sacrifice, a nobler grave ? 
A heart more singly true, or more thine own ? 

Ah, not in vain thy children die for thee ! 
Youth, beauty, genius in the gulf are cast 
That yawns before the footsteps of the free ; 
And the best sacrifice is still the last ! 

Oh, mother of the soldier of the cross. 
Weep not with bitter tears thy fallen son ! 
Let faith and hope shed radiance on thy loss. 
And wait the triumph that his blood has won ! 

1864. 



THE RETURN. 143 



THE RETURN. 



I AM coming back to thee, love ! 

I am hastening home again, 
Faster and faster whirling on, 

By mountain, shore, and plain. 

They say my work is over. 
And I may seek thy side. 

May clasp thee to this wasted form ;- 
My own, my promised bride ! 

I know thy cheek has kindled 
When thou hast read my name, 

For I have not disgraced thee, love. 
Nor brought my country shame ! 

A maimed and blasted form I bring, 

A useless man I come ; 
My mother will not know her child 

When I seek her heart and home ! 

But thou wilt know my voice, love ! 

And all that is left of me. 
For like my trust in God on high 

Is my steadfast faith in thee ! 



144 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

And I shall lay my weary head 

In silence on thy breast, 
And feel thy tears come trickling down, 

And find my perfect rest. 

And though these limbs, so powerless now. 

Can ne'er be strong again, 

I will find a way to work for thee 

While I have a heart and brain. 

1865. 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN, 

OUR EMANCIPATOR. 

From ocean on to ocean swells the wail, 
Sweeping o'er prairie grass, through harps of 

pine. 
From far Katahdin, to the lessening sail 
That leaves the western land of gold and vine. 

Oh stainless soul ! oh mind of widest scope ! 

Believing love can always find the way : 

Oh heart ! whose faith was freedom, manhood, 

hope ! 
Oh black echpse ! in spring-time's brightest day ! 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. HS 

We triumph ! where the hand that gave the 

gift ? 
We wander ! where the wisdom for our guide ? 
We hate ! when vengeance would be stern and 

swift, 
Thy still small voice of ruth in silence died ! 

Oh, sad, sweet eyes ! that all men knew and 

loved. 
Now closed forever 'neath the starry pall. 
Strong, patient, tender soul of wisdom proved, 
The nation mourns for thee ! and is this all ? 

It is not all ! for we, the poor and low, 
Almost forgotten, we had deemed, by God, 
Thou in thy great simplicity did'st know. 
And sought the lost, in paths by martyrs trod. 

Ah ! we should love thee who have heard thy 

call ! 
Gn sable cheeks the bitterest tears must be ! 
The nation owes thee much ; we owe thee all; 
Oh, Father ! would that we had died for thee ! 

1865. 

10 



146 THE OTHERS. 



THE OTHERS. 

We have wept floods of tears for our own ! 

Oh ! a few for the other side ; 
There, too, mothers are making moan. 

Sisters and loves of the lost who died. 

Beautiful boys lie white and still, 
Noble hearts, cold under the gray. 

Shall we cheer for our own with a will. 
And never remember who lost the day ? 

Faith was theirs in a- cause unjust, 
Hope was theirs in a land of death ; 

Souls lie shattered, and torn, and crushed. 
That shouted for error with swelling breath ! 

Sisters in sorrow ! I give you my tears ; 

Yours and mine are beneath the sod ! 
Yours the loss of the dreams of years ; 

Yours and ours the pity of God. 

1865. 



A STREET FUNERAL. 147 



A STREET FUNERAL. 

It was rude, untutored music, 

And yet I stood and wept, 
As they walked with quiet step and slow, 

Following one that slept. 

Ten years were like a moment — 

A shadow they were made ! 
Back rolled the war's dread pageant 

When that dead march they played. 

Gone was the sordid street — 

The shabby pomp was gone, 
And with a strange, bewildering Hfe, 

A tide of men rolled on ! 

Marching, and marching ever. 

The grand procession fled ! 
Onward ! returning never ! 

Our lost, heroic dead I 

1872. 



148 THE END. 



THE END. 

I CLOSE this volume with a grateful sigh ; 
Oft has it served to calm some secret strife, 
Yet when its aspirations rose most high, 
How far below the truth — above my life ! 

Could all the love within one heart be spoken, 
Could all the sorrow of one soul be read. 
Or could the ice that hides one joy be broken, 
What need that aught again be sung or said ! 

But mute we stand when most we would reveal, 

Nor may the mystic barrier be past ; 

Words but the deep and struggling thought 

conceal, 
And silence must our refuge be at last. 



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